


I'll Just Hold Onto That For You (Your Heart)

by maxxrose



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adorable Tony Stark, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Mob, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Artist Steve Rogers, Assassin Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky is a Murder Muffin, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Friendship/Love, Hurt Tony Stark, M/M, Male Friendship, Male Homosexuality, Mutual Pining, Oh wait he does, Other, Pre-Relationship, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Sorry Not Sorry, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony is oblivious about how adorable he is, Worldbuilding, bucky is a hitman/second in command, he also makes Tony coffee, he's the head of a crime family, mafia, steve has no idea why he's being shot at, tony's just trying to stay alive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-14 10:17:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 99,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20190661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxxrose/pseuds/maxxrose
Summary: One fateful Saturday morning, Tony makes the choice to eat breakfast at his favorite cafe, surprisingly mundane in his MIT hoodie and harboring an insatiable need for a mug of black coffee. Next thing he knows, he gets a face full of window glass and one Bucky Barnes quite literally crashing into his life, clad in heavy black body gear and armed with a devilishly sly smirk that has a 110% chance of being exactly Tony's type.Bucky's completely charmed by Tony.Steve's not far behind.Tony's just trying to stay alive at this point.To no one's surprise...Tony's world is casually flipped upside down, and chaos ensues.OR.... the one where Tony calls Bucky a murder muffin and Steve is so on board with that.





	1. Chapter 1

Narrowly avoiding getting flattened into roadkill, Tony sidesteps the speeding Porsche and flips the driver off.

"Overcompensation?" he hollers after the Porsche, grinning in response when the driver throws up his middle finger before he turns the corner. A girl passing him shoots him a curious look, and she's good-looking, opens her mouth like she's going to ask Tony something but he doesn't have the time nor wants to, so he lifts his fingers in a half-assed wave and hauls his bike on the sidewalk. 

Tony parks his bike out front, laying it gently on the bike rack. The sky is blue, the wind's on his face, his laptop's charged, Tony's in a good mood. It's almost Spring Break, and he's just been _dying _for a cozy, peaceful morning at his favorite cafe, the _Lionsgate. _The cafe's his favorite for a reason—

"Hey, Tony!" Clint calls as soon as Tony steps inside, unable to control the smile that spreads across his face as the smell of baked goods and happiness slams in his face. The bells jingle softly above him, and he turns to the fellow brown-haired man with a smile on his face.

"Sup, Clint. How you doing?" Tony greets, walking over to the counter.T his early in the morning, Clint's the only one manning the cafe for his early shift. Clint shoots him a friendly grin and cocks an eyebrow. 

"Same order?" Clint asks, taking a pen and flipping it, catching it deftly with one hand as Tony nods. Clint moves behind the counter, lithe and agile in his brown _Lionsgate _apron. "Your hoodie looks cute," he adds, pouring Tony a mug filled to the brim with his favorite, black, _black _coffee. Black like scorched earth is how he likes it. He hands the mug over to Tony, who takes it and sips the liquid, closes his eyes like he's having a religious experience, and sighs in contentment.

Clint snorts. "Jesus, Tones, at least try to hide the boner." Pauses, then tells Tony almost disapprovingly like what, Clint's his mother now? "You're burning your tastebuds right off."

Tony takes another long sip and _feels_ the magic happening. "Sorry. I sometimes forget how distracting I can be for you." He blinks up at his friend through his eyelashes, bats his eyes adoringly. "Sorry, am I enticing you right now?" He takes his hands, swirls them around in the air, "Am I giving off some sort of mating pheromone?"

Clint scoffs, rolls his eyes, ignores the suggestive comment with practiced ease. "I forget you've probably burned the nerves off your poor tongue since you were around four and eating batteries and sticking your fingers in sockets."

"How did you get my autobiography?" Tony says, leveling an accusing finger at Clint. 

Clint rolls his eyes, finger twitching like he wants to flick Tony with it. "I obviously snoop around in your personal things. You know. Because I have a shameful, health debilitating, giant crush on you. You and your scalded tongue."

"Aw thanks," Tony replies with a teasing smirk. "Might wanna reign in the crush you obviously have going for me there, or else people are going to suspect something," he says, purposefully raising his voice a little so the only other two customers in the cafe this early in the morning shoot them a subtle side-eye while Clint tries his hardest not to react. "Why are you so concerned about my tongue, Barton?" Tony asks, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Clint holds a hand to his heart, looking offended to his bones. "Excuse you, you'd be lucky to have me. And kindly fuck off about the tongue. I don't need any more nightmares featuring you, not when you're always here during the day." A woman behind Clint on another table waves her hand for his attention, and Clint, being the five-starred customer-of-the-goddamn-month he is, decides to ignore her in the stead of keeping Tony company. 

_This, _Tony thinks wryly. _Is the height of true friendship. _

"I've already _got_ you, sweetcheeks." Tony stares back for a moment, then turns on his heel and sways his hips, glancing back and being absolutely _smug _as fuck about it when Clint's dark eyes go faintly predatory. "You make me coffee. I've dated for less," he says, smiling with his teeth. "Knowing that you dream about me is such masturbation fodder."

The woman behind Clint gets noticeably huffy, leaves the cafe with a hostile glare that Tony responds with a placating grin. The door jingles again, and another customer walks in to idle around the counter. 

Clint laughs, flips him off, and turns to serve the other customer who's currently eyeing them with a lot of uncomfortable confusion. Tony notices it right away, of course, the spark of interest in the eyes as the stranger clears his throat and turns his body away to the counter, shoulders stiff. _Well. _Someone needs to release some sexual tension. 

The cafe's almost empty this early in the morning, and Tony loves it that way. All he needs is some AC/DC blasting through the speakers but Clint will probably asphyxiate him for that, so he refrains from upsetting the man who makes him coffee. Clint's been his friend ever since he started the semester and is almost at the end of his journey at MIT, and found the gem that is the Lionsgate cafe. On the first day, Tony accidentally ordered a latte, tasted absolutely no coffee, demanded coffee, Clint argued there in fact _was _coffee, and _no _he was not about to give Tony a refund, and Tony declaring he would not leave the premises without coffee, and _that _resulted in Clint making a furious bet with Tony that if the security cameras were to show Clint _pouring him the fucking coffee _Tony would have buy Clint's pizzas for eight consecutive days. 

They became friends right away. As soon as Tony had finished buying eight pizzas, lectured Clint about the dangers of eating so many pizzas, proceeded to _dose _one with hot sauce that prompted Clint to threaten poisoning every cup of coffee he would ever make for Tony in the future, their friendship blossomed. 

The customer at the counter leaves, bag of muffin in hand. Clint busies himself with pretending to wipe down the espresso machine. 

Tony makes himself comfortable in his favorite corner, at the back of the cafe, surrounds himself with large windows that let through rays of soft sunshine. He takes out his laptop, fires it up and immediately starts working on his prototype for body armor that's light, compact, thick enough to endure multiple bullets but without restricting mobility or speed. While making it look_ good __as hell. _Which, Tony thinks with a satisfied smile, is definitely one of his fortes. His professor in R&D is going to catch feels for this thing. He takes another long gulp of the sweet, black coffee, actually feels the neurons and synapses in his brain firing (yeah, he learned some shit from Bio class (mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell)).

Tony takes the mug, tells it in a soft whisper that he'll remember it forever, and downs the rest of it.

A disgusted noise from across the room makes him look up. 

Clint stares at him, lifts his eyes in a slight eyeroll (the guy does it so much Tony's worried it'll roll right back into his skull one day) and holds up a freshly brewed coffee pot. "Come get your fucking refill," he yells across the room, because the cafe is empty except for Tony and Clint is a barbarian when no one's there to watch him. "I can see the empty cup from here."

Tony jumps to his feet, teleporting to the counter, joy in his heart and grins wide and happy. "You're a goddamn national treasure," he tells Clint, greedily pouring the black liquid into his mug.

Clint sighs, loud and exaggerated. "I know. The plan is to have you die in two years when the caffeine spreads to your heart."

"That's a plan I'm on board with," Tony mumbles around the mug, then gasps when Clint takes the pot back. 

Clint pauses, narrows his eyes like he doesn't trust Tony to touch the coffee pot with a ten-foot pole. "I literally just gave you a second helping."

The amount of coffee Tony drinks is positively scandalous, but it's like the only thing in the world that will never betray him intentionally and Tony loves hard, so he loves coffee for what it is. A replacement for his family and human interaction. 

"Fuck," Clint grumbles, a surefire sign he'll relent. "At least take a muffin so your stomach doesn't commit suicide."

Tony turns, beams. "I never knew you cared." He saunters over to the counter, gets himself a boxfull of muffins thrown at his chest for his trouble and decides to coo sickeningly, "Thanks, sweetheart honey-boo-boo cherrypie."

Clint musters up a pretty decent glare at that. 

There's no real heat in though, so Tony doesn't worry and instead takes the pot, blowing a kiss and a wink in response and carefully makes his way back to his table with the pot in one hand, and the refilled mug in the other because Tony has no shame _even_ if there's people watching him.

Clint coughs, "Caffeine addict."

Tony flips him off without looking and plops himself down on his favorite plushie chair, slinging the laptop towards his knees and hunching down to do some work. He's in the middle of explaining how long strands of fiber made of a super mindblowing metal shit can interlace to form a thick net that's enough to stop a bullet from a game rifle when in his peripheral vision, a low, steady thrum of energy tingles in the back of his neck. The feeling floods over his skin, a kind of electricity in the air, charged tight and taut like a timer set to explode. 

Tony glances up. There's a dark movement in the corner of his eye, a violent blur—

and Tony leaps out of the way, barely in time to scramble from the window as a motorcycle crashes through the window, shattering glass in a million directions with the kind of noise that should be illegal this early in the morning, and tumbles across the cafe's previously white tiles, ending up near the door in a whir of spinning tires and machinery that Tony's hands itches to fix but he's too busy avoiding getting mushed to pieces by that magnificent bike to try.

There's a moment of absolute silence, stretching in the air, then Tony exhales and a thousand things hit him all at once.

The fallen bike makes a suspicious, whining noise, the telltale sound of wires being damaged. 

Glass rests around his feet in a shattered imitation of confetti, broken bits glinting against the white tiles. 

Tony's on his ass, hands stretched behind him, holding him up. There's tiny cuts all over his skin, on his arms, but he doesn't even register the faint sting and trickle of blood hitting the floor. The shock of the impact renders his mind mute, and for a second, he just stares at the wreckage, but then there's someone moving nearby and it snaps him out of it, makes him try to get up on his feet and Tony ignores the pain that webs across his palms as he pulls himself up, head swimming to clarity. 

Clint stands, uncertain and lost in the middle of the destruction, apron untangled and towel in hand, mouth agape.

The previous occupant of the motorcycle lies a meter away from Tony, clad in what seems to be like black combat gear.

_That's a dead person, _his brain supplies helpfully. _You're a meter away from a dead, ceased-to-exist person. _

Tony's never seen a dead body before. There's fear clogging the back of his throat, still foggy from the shock. 

Then the body moves, and Clint lets out a startled shriek and scrambles away as fast as he can instead of going to see if the moving bundle is alright and Tony _laughs, _because he's completely inappropriate in deadly serious times when he could've just died and there might be a not-so-dead body on the floor and Clint would be a terrible doctor and should _never _work in the healthcare industry. 

Then the guy's head pops up, all messy dark brown hair and pale blue eyes and takes Tony's damn breath away. 

Of course, the guy's blatant attractiveness makes Tony feel a _little _bit better after he sees the sleek outline of a Ruger poking out from a sheath on the guy's hip. Then, the guy shifts, and Tony's about halfway there to fainting and screaming because he has a metal fucking arm, glinting and looking all kinds of badass and God, it would be just destructive if Tony ran over there and asked to touch it, right? He can't look away from the absolute beast. The guy looks up, dazed, blood trickling down the side of his face and grease smeared on his skin, flushed red.

He looks out of it, completely _wrecked _and when the guy sees his motorcycle strewn on its side with half the gears hanging out, he looks fucking pissed about itand Tony decides then and there he's got a thing for angry, pretty brunets with blood on their faces, a metal goddamn arm, and molten fire in their blue eyes. 

"Fuck," Tony says casually, like this is an absolutely mundane sight to see on a Saturday morning. 


	2. Chapter 2

_Just look at that metal arm, _his brain marvels, and Tony has to spend a weird amount of effort in ignoring that and figuring out what the _fuck _is happening. 

Tony wobbles to his feet, and then his legs do some unnecessary bullshit where they collapse beneath him and he's left down on one knee. He looks at what used to be his favorite table and chair, and sees shattered wood and what looks like the remains of his laptop. And his _coffee. _Someone's gonna pay for that. This is officially the worst morning of his life, and apparently he must have said all of it out loud because motorcycle asshole turns to look at him, a little bit dazed and a lot flabbergasted. 

Once Tony gets to his feet and stays on them, he half stumbles and half hops to where Clint is still standing, shocked. 

"Dude, snap out of it," he tells Clint and reaches behind the counter to grab the kitchen torch that Clint likes to use to decorate cups of fancy Starbucksian coffee. "Call the cops, and find something to defend yourself with." Clint looks at him, mute, and nods. He ambles to the phone-box, and Tony doesn't have the time to call him out on those fucking bambi-steps of his because motorcycle asshole clears his throat from behind. 

Tony whirls, holds the torch and points it at the incredibly attractive brunet. _God_. Tony's already getting a hard-on for that metal arm of his, close-up like that, he really wants to jump the guy. "Hold the fuck right there, Murder Muffin," because Tony's got no filter when it comes to his mouth and he'll be damned if he starts now. "What's going on? What are you—no, scratch that, _why'd you flatten my favorite cafe? _You better give me a damn good reason or I'm going to burn that smirk right off your handsome face."

Motorcycle asshole looks like he's trying to swallow a grin, and instead plasters on a pathetic serious face no one in their right mind would buy, not even an 80-year-old grandmother. "Aw," he coos, and Tony's eyes are widening because _holy smokes he's falling in love. _"You think I'm handsome?"

Tony fights the grin growing on his face, and waves the blowtorch. "Who the hell are you?"

"Sorry, didn't mean to drop by like this," the guy drawls, Brooklyn accent dripping off his syllables. "But it's about to get pretty dangerous in a few minutes, so you better tell that boy with the apron on he'd better find somewhere to hide, and somewhere real good." Then he pauses, gets to a crouch, and starts dusting himself off all casual and hip-happy. Tony's staring at him, incredulous, and ready to start blasting off some flames when the guy adds like an afterthought, "You too, doll, if you wanna keep your head." 

"Thanks, _doll,_" Tony bites back, voice sharp and flat. "Real considerate of you."

Like Tony's the kind of person to listen to an asshole who just destroyed his favorite coffee shop, and trashed weeks of research on his computer. He's about to hold motorcycle asshole responsible, and he has no qualms about using the torch to do it. Tony glares at the guy right in the eyes as the torch comes on with a hiss and a pop. He may have a gun, and an arm that can probably crush Tony's throat in four seconds but Tony's got some marvelous coffee in his system and no fucks left to give.

"Tony," Clint squeaks from by the phone booth, hair falling into his eyes. "Please don't piss off the guy with a gun and a metal arm."

Tony narrows his eyes and complains, "Honestly, who the fuck _is _this guy?"

Clint makes a horrified noise. "Oh God, I'm so sorry," he blurts out, gesturing wildly at Tony. "Please don't—you know what, you go ahead and kill him, just don't kill me, and Tony," he says, turning to him, "I _knew _you'd be the death of me."

"Barton," Tony says, a little betrayed. "How could you?"

The guy holds up both hands placatingly with a quirk to his lips and looking between them with interest. "Kill you guys? I won't, don't worry, no one's paying me for that," and Clint's eyes all but bug out of his sockets and Tony's aiming the blowtorch straight at him again. Motorcycle asshole winces and says hurriedly, "Not a good time for a joke? Okay. Not jokey people then. I'm Bucky. Bucky Barnes. Think of me as your temp Mom, if it helps. Listen to me. Get behind the counter, now." There must be something he knows that Tony doesn't, because a note of urgency rises in his voice as motorcycle asshole gets to his feet, he's pulling out the Ruger out in a smooth motion, handling it expertly, and Tony makes a noise of distress. 

"Put that gun down," he says, a little scared, mostly pissed, and absolutely not about to back down. He steps closer, and is in arm-length's distance to motorcycle asshole, who watches the whole thing with a bit of confused admiration in his eyes, like he doesn't know what to do with Tony anymore for the life of him. "Clint! Did you call the cops yet?" Tony yells, not taking his eyes off the brunet. There's a bit of shuffling behind the counter, and the pitched sound of something small and metal hitting the tile floor from the hole that was previously a window.

Clint audibly gulps, and Tony tenses up. Motorcycle asshole is _still _holding the damn gun and acting like a cornered animal, eyes flicking from left to right. 

"Yes, yes," Clint says, slowly. Tony waits for him to continue, peers over at his brown-haired friend. "Um, I'm not an expert or anything, but I think Bucky's right on the getting the hell out of dodge, because I think_, I think _I'm looking at a grenade."

"Don't give him the honor of his name," Tony snaps. He looks down at motorcycle asshole, motions with the torch to get in front. "Names are reserved for humans who _don't _destroy coffee shops." 

Barnes returns his hard stare, but moves forward anyway in light, quick steps that completely undermine the broad shoulders and bulky muscles. He grabs the black bag on the floor near his motorcycle and hefts it over his shoulder, then runs to peer over the counter, hisses, grabs Clint by the front of his shirt and shoves him towards the entrance door of the cafe, out into the street. "They're already here, and you're fucked," he tells them, and Tony gapes at the audacity and is about to vocalize it when there's an explosion behind them, deafening and intense, and he feels the heat pressure at his back and both him and Clint are bending down, scared out of their minds. 

Tony risks a glance behind, his throat rigid and ears roaring with blood, and looks away from the smoldering, blackened mess that was his favorite cafe and what could have been him and Clint. 

"What the fuck," Clint rasps softly, staring in bug-eyed shock at the wreckage. 

Barnes clears his throat, almost apologetic. He grabs Tony with his metal hand and pushes them both behind him, ushering them across the street. Tony takes a second to lower the torch and glances around, still shaken and trembling and _scared_, but the street's quiet. A little too quiet. No cars, no pedestrians, and Tony exchanges an uneasy look with Clint, who's hair is even messier and eyes a little bigger.

"It's going to get messy," Barnes intones, eyes sharp and surveying the space around them. "Stay down."

"Oh," Tony chokes out. "This isn't messy? Goddamn. Murder Muffin, better notify the Webster dictionary and redefine 'messy' to a level _above _a ruined cafe, a grenade, and a broken intersection."

"How'd I miss the nickname phase, already?" Clint asks, loud and interested and looks like he's grateful for the distraction. Barnes spots an empty, abandoned store and kicks down the door with the practised ease of a man who does that _way _too often, and nudges them roughly inside, gestures to hide behind the counter, and then takes position near a pillar, dropping his black bag around his feet in the center of the room. 

Tony stares around the store, tight-lipped. _What the hell is happening. _

Barnes opens his mouth, but doesn't get the chance to say whatever he wants to say because a second later there's the faint sound of cars and Barnes is ducking, going low and yanking Tony and Clint to the ground with him as something metal hits the entrance of the store. Smoke billows, tendrils snaking to the ceiling and clouding the air with thick, grey mist. It's hard to breathe or even blink now, and the air feels hotter, like the whole world is collapsing on itself and trying to envelope them all in it, and the air is acid to breathe. 

Tony drops, heart hammering in his chest and bile suddenly in this throat, because Barnes was telling the truth, and Tony's never been face to face with the kind of life-threatening bullshit Barnes probably goes hand in hand with. Tony crawls behind the counter, pressing his spine against the cool stellate. His breaths are coming out too fast, too quick and Clint isn't in a much better state, fear tight around the corners of his mouth and eyes a few feet away from Tony. Tony closes his eyes and tries to calm his heart before it fucking explodes because bullets are burying themselves into the drywalls, deafening gunfire is in the background, and the screech of tires outside on the street signals new arrivals. 

Barnes grits his teeth, sharply snapping out, "Stay down and make sure they don't see you!"

Tony watches as the brunet vaults over the counter, making a run for a big black bag crumpled in the center. Tony peeks over the counter, sees two black cars parked on the street, and spots two men inching their way closer to the shop, guns drawn and in similar black combat gear that Barnes is in. Then movement from the second car, and Tony realizes there are two more men, and with a sinking feeling in his gut he knows Barnes is outnumbered. The men are clearly tracking Barnes, who fires off warning shots that hit on the hoods of the cars and close enough that the two men decide to wait them out, and settle in position near their vehicles.

Exhilaration thuds in his heart, electricity thrums through his skin and the adrenaline courses through his bones. 

He figures he should be scared, or terrified halfway to a panic attack, but this is unlike anything he's ever experienced, Howard would be urging him on, to give those men with guns hell. His Dad was never one to stray from a fight. 

Obviously, Tony's stumbled into some knockoff Jason Bourne movie. 

Barnes leans back against the pillar, barely out of breath, replenishes his ammunition but keeps glancing towards the black bag, unable to get to it because it's in the line of fire. Tony's fingers start itching again, because one thing he hates most, is staying still and getting benched when there's a play starting. 

_Iron's in your soul, son, _Howard used to say, pride in his eyes. _You got it right there, _and he'd touched Tony's chest. _Right in you. Couldn't burn it out of you if I tried. _

A hand tugs on his shirt, and Tony glances back. Clint shakes his head, frowning. "You're not going out there. I know you, that's your productive face, and you're not fucking going out." Clint sounds stressed, calmer than before, but looks intent in a way Tony's not really used to seeing. 

Tony conjures up a half-assed grin. "My productive face looks a lot like my bedroom face. How do you know I'm not planning to have a wild fuck in the broom closet right now?" Clint rolls his eyes, and Tony stares back, gentle and firm. "Hey, I'm gonna be fine. Stay here." Without waiting for a reply, Tony makes a scrambling sprint right past Barnes straight for the bag, who looks like he can't believe his own eyes and ends up behind a pillar, away from the line of sight, with the bag clutched tight in his hands and breathing fast through the exhilaration running through his body like a dopamine shot. 

Barnes laughs something a little high-pitched, amazed and relieved. "What's _wrong_ with you?"

Tony lets himself breathe, back against the pillar, then winks back, shameless. "People have said I'm an actual human nightmare." 

"Not compared to me you're not," Barnes throws back just as easily. "I'd make you look like a fucking daydream. Not that you need any help." he shrugs and Tony's absolutely _delighted. _Barnes is a regular Shakespearean goddamn tragedy, and wears it like a badge of honor. 

"Stop flirting and please focus," Clint says beseechingly from behind the counter. "Our lives are at stake."

That seems to sober them up, and Barnes tells Tony what to do in a low voice that only they can hear.

Barnes keeps an eye on the men outside, while Tony rifles through the contents of the bag. He slides an assault rifle over to Barnes, who takes it and asks for some ammo which Tony quickly provides. Barnes aims the rifle, shoots through a car door and Tony kicks the black bag to him, trying his best to push down the coil of panic that abruptly grows every time he hears a gunshot. The car sets off a shrieking alarm, and while Barnes arms himself with all terrors in the bag, Tony sits with his legs curled up and eyes fixed right on the brunet.

_Don't die,_ he realizes. He wants them to get away safely, wants to get to know Barnes a little better, maybe make fun of his murder strut, and kiss the hell out of him after buying him a cup of coffee on the house for saving his and Clint's asses. 

Yeah. He wants to kiss Barnes. And maybe get some time alone with that gorgeous arm of his. 

A garbled shout outside draws Tony out of his thoughts, as a body falls behind an open car door. He whips his head to stare at Barnes, who cocks the gun again and aims, firing clear, precise headshots that have the men clambering to find adequate cover. Tony tries not to be completely charmed, when Barnes crosses the entire space and steps over broken glass to single-handedly take down another man with the handgun in his metal hand. Barnes shoves the handgun into his waistband and goes to town with the assault rifle instead.

The men are desperate in returning constant fire, but Barnes moves too quick for that.

One man shoulders to the front of the group and lunges at him, and Tony feels his heart jump a little when Barnes pulls out a glistening knife from _nowhere _and goes for his opponent, knocking the man back with his metal fist and shoving the man to his knees, and in a swift motion draws the blade across his throat. Blood spurts straight from the guy's throat, and his eyes go blank so quick it jars Tony, steals his damn breath because he's never seen a dead body, but he's never seen someone actively _die, _either.

Barnes glances at him for a split second, then pulls the body up and uses it as an armor, plunging forward like a glorious death machine.

He's beautiful, dancing on a deserted street in all his black geared glory, muscles rippling underneath the body armor and blue eyes focused with a sharp glint in his eye as he takes one well-aimed shot after another, throws the gun on the ground and goes hand-to-hand with the two remaining men, movements hitting precise with a controlled force of brutality. Controlled ruthlessness. He fights like a dancer, but also like a boxer, goes for light steps with deft hits in soft spots and weak planes then switches tactics and trades heavy, damage blows that crumple bodies and bones. 

Flashes of metal, of the blade Barnes wields like an extended finger, and it's breathtaking. 

He brings another man down to his knees with a powerful roundhouse kick, floors the guy and slams the end of the gun into his head with a sickening crunch. 

Tony tears his eyes away from the fight to look for Clint. "Clint, come here, it's okay. I think."

A head of tousled brown hair pops over the counter, and once Clint reassures himself Barnes is definitely taking care of any and all dangers, he unsteadily walks over to where Tony is crouching. Clint drops to the floor, eyes a little too bright and glassy, and Tony leans over to take one of his grime-covered hands. He holds it close, and squeezes. 

"It's okay," Tony says softly, the way he talks to Clint after a night of too many whiskey shots and too many beers, a night when Clint needs someone to ground him so he doesn't drown at sea and in the rushing waves of opioids. Tony smiles fondly, and Clint returns a small smile gratefully but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Barnes is a regular Florence fucking Nightingale at taking care of people."

Boots crunch over glass behind him and Tony whips around, immediately shielding Clint with his own body.

Barnes looks back at him, a slight smirk on his devilishly handsome face, unwinded and head high.

That face is doing all kinds of things to Tony, and he's not proud of it. Tony clears his throat, reaches behind and pulls Clint up with him. He eyes Barnes cautiously, and makes a throaty noise of approval.

"You uh, what exactly are you?" Tony asks, peering around Barnes to see four crumpled bodies on the ground. The pavement has splatters of blood on it and Tony swallows, and actually feels a little sick. It's oddly unsettling, the way their heads look wrong on their shoulders and their bodies are a little too flat, lifeless and strewn carelessly the way children leave their toys on the ground. Barnes is watching him with the kind of wariness you have when you approach a lion's cage, like he doesn't know how Tony will react. 

"It's not important," Barnes says, deflective, and Tony believes him. "You two okay?"

Tony nods wordlessly. 

The brunet takes Tony by the wrist and leads him out onto the street, ducking out of the ruined abandoned shop. Clint trails behind them uncertainly, assessing the damage with calculating eyes. Tony's glad to see that look back on his face, because it means Clint is coming back, slowly, but surely. Tony shakes his wrist free of the brunet, not that he wouldn't love to stay in contact with the totally _hot _assassin, but there's (unfortunately) more pressing matters at hand. 

Tony blinks, and after a moment's pause, heaves a theatrical sigh. "How the fuck am I gonna go about my life now?"

"It's not over," Barnes says, glancing around the empty street quickly. "They'll have called for backup the second the first man went down. They're coming, and we need to get out of here." Barnes doesn't wait for Tony's reply and calls Clint over, who went from looking displeased to full-on furious. "I've already sent a comm to my own team, they're on their way now. In the meantime—" Barnes doesn't even get to finish his sentence when two more SUV cars round the corner, tires skidding on the road and Barnes bites out a curse, manhandles Tony and Clint back towards the two black cars behind them. 

"_Fuck_, go. Go and hide, and don't come out." Barnes snaps, already moving to cover them, guns cocked and ready in his hands. 

Tony's panicking now, can _feel _the fucking high blood pressure chasing after him so Clint takes charge and bundles Tony towards the nearest car and Tony makes a sound in his throat that sounds a lot like _Bucky, _and then they're enveloped in a cloud of smoke and red sparks and he barely registers Clint yelling _grenade, _but they're thrown hard to the pavement and Tony rolls onto his back, eyes stinging, chest constricting because he can't get any _damn air _inside his lungs and there's a throbbing in his skull, dull and loud, and becoming louder and louder and the edges of his vision swim black and stars dance across his eyes and Tony lets the crushing black tide envelope him until the whole world's silent, and Tony knows nothing anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is soon. Hey guys, if you like it, leave a kudos and a comment! Would be greatly appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

_Bucky woke up this morning and expected the plan to go along smoothly._

_He woke up at 6am, with a clear goal and mission in mind. _

_He woke up with Steve, the big oaf, wrapped around him in a tangle of limbs. _

_He woke up, got dressed, told the punk he'd be back in time for a late lunch, and set off to work. _

Bucky, however, made a fatal mistake. He hadn't factored Tony Stark into the equation, and got fucked in the ass for it. 

And now, with frightening clarity, he knows he won't make it back in time for that late lunch.

Bucky leaps onto the black car, muscles tense. Every single neuron, every cell, every little part of him is alight, watchful, waiting. His body prepares itself for a fight, the way it's done a thousand times before. 

He tells himself not to worry, and it's hard not to, when you're staring at a group of trained soldiers who are pointing guns at your face like you're a thin, innocent blonde who's walking alone in the middle of the night and the creeps start paying attention with bloodthirsty grins on their faces. Except he's not wearing A-line skirt but he might as well be when he catches the lead guy with a sadistic grin on his face. And they threw a fucking grenade at him, well actually _two,_ and Bucky hasn't seen Clint and Tony yet after he sent them behind a car but he _knows _they could be hurt.

Mercy is out of the question for these fuckers. 

Tony and Clint are civilians, who don't deserve to catch bullets with their faces, and Bucky _can't _let them become another unfortunate set of collateral damage that is seen all too often in his line of work. _Steve would rip him a new one_, Bucky thinks fondly. Steve is such a sucker for playing designated knight to civilians, something most of them have no qualms about doing but don't necessarily go out of there way to be in their missions and ops. 

Natasha's fast and light, likes to play scout and choke men with her God given thighs. 

Wanda and Pietro move like a double bladed unit, whirlpools of violence and precise cuts. 

Sam is deadly with his assault rifles.

Steve assumes the Mother role for the team, simultaneously looks out for each member and manages to exert deadly force on enemy skulls. 

There's a noise to his far left, and Bucky's brain registers two assault rifles being cocked. 

He resists the strong urge to check on Tony and Clint, and it would be so _easy, _duck down and scurry behind. And, if Bucky's being honest, the thought of Tony in danger makes his heart climb a little higher in his throat. It would just be a shame if Steve didn't get a chance to meet the destructive whirlwind that is composed of Tony, and so Bucky makes a promise to himself, that Steve _will. _

And Bucky never breaks his promises.

"Come get me, you fucks," Bucky mutters, low and dangerous, aiming the gun directly at the driver.

The air is sharp with smoke, blood and _death _and it's instinctive, the way Bucky eyes the men inside the oncoming cars, checks to see how many rounds of ammo he has left, and calculates if by the time he takes down three, whether the other three will be met with his knives or his fists. The world settles to a still calm all around him, and Bucky shuts it all out, until all he's left with are the men he's going to kill, a scope sharp and hollow, settling on what becomes mere targets with red halos around their heads. 

A monster awakens in the pits of his belly, hungry and _dark, _and Bucky isn't about to chain it back.

The Winter Soldier stirs. 

When the first one comes for him, choosing to switch to hand-to-hand combat, the Winter Soldier pulls his lips away from his teeth and snakes his arms lightning quick around him, moving with such effortless ruthlessness the sound the first one makes when he dies is bittersweet, quiet and drips off the Winter Soldier's chin like remnants of a drizzling storm. He takes the gun, aims with one hand and one eye, closes the other and the bullet drops the second one prepared to launch himself at them before he crumples like a broken doll. The Winter Soldier spins on his heels, ducks a knife, crosses the distance to the third one in seconds and this one's putting up a bit of challenge, spittle flying from his mouth and desperation in the eyes, blows and punches uncoordinated but packing strength, the kind you give when you're backed in a corner with no chance and decide you'll go down swinging. 

They take care of _that_ in a jiffy, knocks the third one's head back with an uppercut and crushes his throat with their metal hand. 

They're going for the fourth one, who's already shooting at them, when a familiar Jeep flies into the side of the first black car, sending it crashing into an electrical pole with a sickening thud. The second black car skids to an unruly stop, tires screeching as it tries to reverse, and the Jeep's doors are thrown open. 

They only see another threat, faint, moving targets with shades of red that don't seem to be right. 

The Winter Soldier stills, lowering the knife point because the red should be _crimson, _and then someone's yelling, _"Bucky!"_

Someone grabs at his shoulders, tightens their hold and Bucky startles, tenses instinctively because _capture must be evaded at all costs. _

"Buck," and it's _Steve, _Bucky knows that—_he does—_and it's the soft waft of fresh pine, mint, of his boyfriend, his partner, his best friend, that pulls him back and drowns the Winter Soldier out of him. It's like the blinker placed around his head disappears, melts under Steve's gentle touch and earnest blue eyes and strong hands. Bucky starts, swallowing, almost stumbling back unsteadily but Steve's got a steady hold on him. "Buck, it's me. Hey, you're okay. We're here."

Steve sounds soft, the gentle bullshit he does when Bucky wakes up from a nightmare, heaving and swinging, terror clogged in his throat and reaching for his guns and knives. He sounds like he does when Bucky wakes up in Medical, swimming his way to consciousness and out of the tide of opioids, blurry and dulled around the edges.

"Steve," Bucky says, slow and after a pause like he's learning the name all over again. "What did I.... when did you—"

"We just came," Steve says, squeezing and pressing a quick kiss to Bucky's lips that he really wants to continue. "Sorry you had to wait, but we're here now. You did good, Buck," and he's smiling in that comforting, familiar way of his and Bucky lifts his chin, loosens up until he's looking around. "Come on!"

Bucky laughs a little at that, loud and _relieved, _because his team is here.

Steve starts moving fast, towards the team, all suited up and starts ordering them in position. He pauses, looks back and locks eyes with Bucky. Bucky, who's following easy and light, making his way to his team comes to a stop beside Steve and wants nothing more than to kiss him again. But he knows he can't, not yet, so that's incentive for them to finish this battle as fast as possible. 

"Hey," Bucky says and claps a hand onto Natasha's shoulder. "About fucking time you got here." 

Natasha smiles back, picks out a stray piece of brain off her shoulder. "Sorry, we were preoccupied. I see you went all Winter Soldier on these poor souls."

Bucky looks to the floor, briefly, throat tight. But then Natasha nudges him and gives him a look, _don't. _

Steve comes up behind them, snorts, unsurprised. "Looks like you gave 'em hell, sweetheart." 

Natasha says something soft in Russian to Bucky, peels away from them like a shadow and back into the fight. 

Bucky doesn't need to look back at the bodies behind him to know what Steve's talking about. "I have no idea what you mean by that," he says brightly, deflective but Steve laughs, fond and amused, knows Bucky needs it. It's a surprise, and a good one, when Steve reels him in by his black jacket to kiss him, deep and dirty and absolutely perfect. Then he pulls back, pats Bucky's jacket down with composed vigor, and _smiles. _

"Goddamn. You have too much influence over me," Bucky says with a pointed look at Steve's lips.

Steve grins, bright and warm and repeats, "I have _no_ idea what you mean by that." 

Bucky leans forward, presses his forehead to his best friend and lover. "Now who's the one talking bullshit." Bucky rasps, dark and _promising, _notes how Steve shivers with a curling satisfaction in his stomach and then straightens to gaze past him and sees Wanda, who waves after taking down a man twice her size with a series of vicious high kicks and upper cuts. Pietro, her brother, beats back another goon with accurate strikes and the goon soon ends up with a slit throat and a broken jaw. Natasha, the most experienced of them all, is locked in a fight with three, a menacing whirlwind. She throws a dagger at the nearest one, severing his jugular and leaps and wraps her thighs around another's neck and swings them both down. She jumps back to her feet, nimble, diving for the last man whose face is the embodiment of regret.

Bucky whistles appreciatively, and Nat flashes him a quick smirk. 

But Bucky doesn't have time to join the fray. "I've got two civilians back there," Bucky says and takes Steve's hand and pulls him away, falling into a jog back to where he left Clint and Tony. His palms are a little clammy, Bucky realizes with a start. He's nervous.

Doesn't want to find Clint dead, and Tony. Steve shoots him an anxious look but stays silent. 

Bucky finds them sprawled on the road behind the black car he pushed them behind, and makes a noise of distress when he sees Tony, on his back and dark hair flat across his face. Bucky rushes to his side, presses two fingers on Tony's neck and hopes for a pulse. He finds one, and sags in relief, but it's not as strong as it's supposed to be. Bucky gazes at the boy's face for a moment, and lets himself appreciate the fact that Tony is alive. He looks to side, and Steve is crouched over Clint, brows furrowed.

"Anything?" Bucky asks, nervous. He cradles Tony's face with his hands, and pushes the dark curls back from Tony's forehead. Tony is pale, body lax and Bucky bites his lip, worried when he finds blood, warm and sticky at the back of Tony's head. 

Steve nods, rocking back on his heels. "This one's fine, unconscious, but fine. What happened?" He asks, edged with concern.

Bucky shakes his head. "I was doing some recon at the warehouse, where the weapons drop was supposed to be happening, but there was a shoot-out, and they saw me. Must've mistaken me for somebody important because next thing I know I'm being chased on my motorcycle by two black cars, and then they shoot out a tire and I crash into that coffee shop," Bucky says, jerking his head backwards to the destroyed cafe, and the wrecked store. "and I met these two."

Steve clears his throat, reaches out to touch Bucky's hand gently. "Are _you _okay?" 

Bucky turns to stare down at Tony and says to Steve quietly, "He saved me."

Steve's eyebrows tickles upwards. "That pretty boy? He looks too cute to be brave," Steve comments with a chuckle.

"Well, he is." Bucky shrugs, and slides his metal hand under Tony's back, and hefts him up, bridal-style. "Braver than a lot of people I've ever known." Tony is light, suspiciously light and warm in his MIT hoodie and Bucky holds him close, cradling him to his chest with cautious care. It's strange, Bucky thinks with a wry chuckle. Because if Tony ever found out Bucky held him bridal-style, Bucky has a feeling Tony would let him know _exactly_ how undignified it was in spirited, sharp words.

"Must be special," Steve tilts his head and regards Tony with an inquisitive look. "to have piqued this much of your attention." Steve leans down, takes Clint and slings the boy over his shoulder, grunting with the weight. Bucky stares. Steve rolls his eyes. "What?" 

"Handle that one with care, punk. I know my ass is a distraction but looking at it for more than thirty seconds can cause irreparable damage to your eyes," Bucky teases and turns, tightening his hold on Tony and striding back to the jeep. 

Steve sighs behind him. "Your ass isn't the sun, Buck, and you can't just _say that,_" tagging along after Bucky grudgingly, right hand curled around Clint's waist to keep him on his shoulder. Bucky risks a glance back, and is pleased to see Steve's cheeks are rosy. Being with Bucky since they were kids, you would've thought Steve would make his peace with Bucky's brazenness by now. 

"It is 'cause you can't live without it." Bucky calls back, wiggling his hips to cement his point and walks over to meet the rest of his team, who all peer at Tony with curiosity in their eyes. Natasha approaches first, unwinded and calm, and takes a good look at Tony.

"Bucky," Natasha says, measured and even. He lets her look him over, because he knows she needs it. Once Nat is satisfied, she reaches forward to touch his shoulder with a hand. Bucky returns the touch, and they both breathe in silent unison for a moment. Natasha's breath is warm, and Bucky tells her with his eyes, _we'll talk later. _She dips her head in acknowledgement, gives him an easy smile, asks, "Hospital?"

Bucky shakes his head, ducks inside the open Jeep and lays Tony down on the backseat delicately. "Nope." 

Steve catches up a moment later, and sees Tony inside. "We gotta get both of them to the hospital," he declares, tone serious. 

Wanda slides into the passenger seat, smirking smugly at her brother's crestfallen expression. "Bucky said no." She tells Steve, who raises his eyebrows even higher to look expectantly at Bucky. Pietro sidesteps Bucky to take the brunt of Clint's weight, and stands off the side, waiting.

Steve must see something in Bucky's face because he hurriedly says, "We're _not_ taking them to base." and makes a face at Bucky like he's waiting for an agreement. Bucky wrinkles his nose, because _of course _Steve knows him so well he can guess what Bucky plans to do. 

"Yeah we are. I'm not leaving without Tony." A pause, "and Clint, of course." Bucky looks at his team, each in the eye. "We've got doctors back there. Good ones. Come on, Medical's great! They've been able to keep my guts inside my body up until now, and that's not an easy task." 

"They're civilians," Steve tells him, and Bucky rolls his eyes and tries to swallow the _no shit, Sherlock _on the tip of his tongue and instead settles for an impatient sigh. 

"Yep, and I'll take care of Tony myself. Promise," Bucky says with a drawl, and squares his shoulders, daring any of them to argue back. No one does, and Wanda and Pietro exchange confused looks. Natasha's eyes are narrowed, trained on Tony, and Steve is standing with his arms crossed. "C'mon. Tony's bleeding from his head, Clint's knocked out, and I'm not risking their lives for another moment arguing a moot point." Without waiting for an answer, Bucky climbs into the backseat, taking Tony's head and shifting his body until he's half in Bucky's lap, half on the seat itself. 

Steve is staring hard at Bucky, and after a moment, seems to come to a conclusion. "I'm your commander, Buck." He says softly.

Bucky stares back, resolute. "I know, Stevie."

Steve rests a hand against the car door, and Bucky's a little worried at what the look on his face means. He doesn't want to go over Steve's head, knows usually Steve's word is final, but their team's never been anything if not honest with each other. And Bucky _knows _he made the right call. Right now, _Tony's _the concern. 

"He saved your life?" Steve asks, eyes searching.

Bucky nods, a little tighter.

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, looking like he wants to give Bucky a swat on the head, and gestures at Nat. "Alright. Let's go, Nat, we've gotta get out of here before the cops show up." Steve finally says, waits for Pietro to sit next to Bucky before getting in. Nat opens the driver's seat, revs the engine and the car jolts, a low hum starting.

The car moves, and Bucky settles back against the leather seats, and glances down at Tony's sleeping face. 

"You're gonna be okay." He whispers gently, touching Tony's soft cheek with the pad of his thumb. He doesn't miss the curiosity in Steve's eye as the blond sneaks careful glances at them.

Bucky sits, a cup of coffee in his metal hand, oblivious to the heat. His eyes are on Tony, whose head is bandaged and sleeping peacefully, tucked into white sheets. The color's coming back to Tony's face gradually, and Bucky finds himself staring at Tony's soft, pretty face more often than not. The nurses have changed Tony into a white hospital gown. With growing insist and with Steve's help, they even had Bucky checked over for injuries and changed into something comfortable; sweatpants and a hoodie.

_Tony's going to be alright,_ the usual doctor at base had said, _but he needs a couple days of rest and take it easy_. The doctor, Felix Werner, was definitely surprised at having a civilian to treat. Bucky had _not _provided an explanation, but one glare from him sent the doctor running along. Bucky had listened attentively to the doctor's diagnosis, hand on the foot of Tony's bed. Steve lingered in the doorway, a little hesitant to come in, arms crossed across his chest. The rest of the team had dispersed, probably to clean up and head to a briefing. 

Thirty minutes later, and Bucky decides to sit with Tony for a while.

Steve is _still _in the doorway, face looking like someone's kicked his puppy and Bucky can't deal with another second of Steve's little sighs. 

"Just come in, Stevie," Bucky says, impatiently. "I know you're curious."

"I put Clint in the adjoining room so they don't freak out, and Nat's with him." Steve tells him offhandedly, still not looking at Bucky's face. He might have to take some personal offence to that soon, but he knows Steve, so he just listens. "Um. I can go." Steve offers, eyes downcast. 

"Jesus fucking Christ," Bucky groans and leans over to pull Steve down. "I want you here." Bucky says, softly, tips Steve's chin up and draws him in for a sweet, simple kiss. Steve makes a small happy noise that has Bucky feeling all warm and tingly, and wastes no time in sliding his hands down to grab at Steve's waist, down to his ass. Steve coughs, embarrassed, and Bucky throws him a sly smirk. "Stop sulking. I'm sorry I went over you back there," he says, honestly. 

Steve shrugs a little, gives him an indulgent look. "It's okay. It must have been important, and I trust you." 

Bucky grins, running his fingers through Steve's blond hair. "Kind of, you'll see why soon."

"Hurt me a little bit, though," Steve murmurs and pushes back, capturing Bucky in another deep, open-mouthed kiss. "The way you cradled Tony like that."

"Mhm, shoulda asked you to join in, my bad." Bucky rumbles back, nosing down Steve's neck and drawing in the familiar musky, alpine-woods with a hint of strawberry scent. God. Steve is warm, sparking passion down his spine, and Bucky arches into Steve's touch on his shoulders. "He's pretty, isn't he?"

Steve pulls back, a smile hooking up the corners of his mouth and hums in agreement. "He is."

"You gonna warm me up, darlin'?" Bucky breathes into Steve's ear, and tracks an eye to the door. It's closed, and the curtains are drawn. Not that he'd give a single fuck about someone seeing him kiss Steve. He can't help himself when he's around Steve. He's never been good at hiding himself from the people he loves and who loves him back, and Steve knows it. "I'm feelin' a little bit cold in this room."

"Well maybe that's 'cause you're on that chair on not on my lap," Steve teases back, eyes hooded, dark with desire.

"_Stevie,_" Bucky gasps, and pretends to be shocked. "How fucking dare you. Buy a fella dinner first, would 'ya? 

Steve rolls his eyes, and leans in for another kiss when someone clears their throat.

Bucky sits up, already grinning, and Tony stares back at him, accusing and scandalized.

"Fuck's sake, murder muffin," Tony says, alive and _annoyed_ and all kinds of tangles in his voice, "Have some fucking decency for the guy who's literally three feet from you in a hospital bed, will you?" 

Steve shoots to his feet, blushing, shuffling his feet and Tony's eyes snap to Steve, and his eyes widen even further. "Who's _this? _What the hell is a fine specimen like you doing knocking boots with a ragdoll like _Barnes?"_

Bucky shakes his head. "You had a concussion, doll, so I'm gonna forgive that last word because you're obviously delusional and still recovering." he tells Tony and steps closer to the bed. Tony, for his part, is working his jaw up a furious storm and seems like he's about to bust out an eyeball. "I got your ass back to a doctor. No thanks needed." Bucky smirks and tilts his head. Steve coughs in his throat, looking like all he wants is to be somewhere else but Bucky's got a pretty firm hold on the front of Steve's shirt. 

"Where's Clint?" Tony asks, narrowing his large dark brown eyes. "This doesn't look like a hospital." Tony scans the room, quick and calculating. 

"Your, um, friend is in the next room. He's okay," Steve assures Tony hesitantly, and smiles uncertainly. Bucky tries not to roll his eyes. Steve is always so _polite. _Tony is squinting at Steve suspiciously, like he thinks _Steve _is somehow responsible for all the bullfuckery of this day. 

Bucky snorts. "Tony, this is Steve Rogers. My boyfriend, and the up-and-coming head of the Carter crime family. I'm sure you've heard of it from the news." Bucky tells Tony bluntly, because he's not the kind of person to talk around important matters. Steve makes a sound of horror and stares at Bucky incredulously, and Tony's eyes gets a little bigger, face paling. "And the next time you plan on interrupting a _fantastic _make out session, it's actually mandatory to join in. Twenty-first century rule," Bucky explains with a dismissive hand. "Millennials, and all that. It's as normal as having threesomes."

Steve looks constipated, and Bucky holds back a laugh when he sees an eye start to twitch. 

Tony gulps, and blinks. "So. The blond hunk named Steve is a fucking mobster, _you're _a horny, out-of-control assassin." Tony looks at _him _for that and Bucky beams, with the kind of toothy smile that can clear a bar full of soldiers in thirty seconds. "And I'm not in the hospital," Tony says faintly, with a realization. "I'm not in the fucking hospital." It sounds like Tony's come to a conclusion.

Tony looks a little wild around the eyes, and Steve winces in sympathy, shuffling about like he wants to appease Tony personally.

"No," Bucky says, chipper and bright. "I guess not. We're somewhere much bigger, better, deadlier, and a hell of a lot more fun than your frat boy and alcohol-infested dorm room at MIT. So buckle up, doll. It's gonna be a bumpy ride."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, we go a little deeper into the story.  
Again, please leave a kudos and a comment if you like it! Thank you all so much.
> 
> And yeah. I made Steve related to the Carters. And by that, I mean Peggy Carter, and Sharon Carter.


	4. Chapter 4

His mother always told Tony, to _always give them the benefit of the doubt. _

His mother's usually right. And Tony listens to her. But in this case, Tony will absolutely fucking _not _give them the benefit of the doubt.

He wakes up, and it's like a thirty-pound safe box dropped square onto his face. His whole skull throbs, Tony can't even string a chain of thoughts together and from the waist up, his whole body aches like a bitch. Tony blinks, tries to focus on the ceiling. It's hard, but after a while, Tony reaches up and tentatively touches the back of his head, only to find it wrapped with white gauze. _Concussion, _Tony recalls vaguely. _Clint. Grenade. Barnes. _Panic shoots up his throat, heavy and high and Tony tries to move his head, looking for Clint, or Barnes, or anybody familiar. But no one's there.

Tony sniffs at the air, and it doesn't smell quite like the hospital. _Maybe it's a private room. _He still can't hear all that well, the sounds are a little muffled, so he waits.

Tony inhales a breath, long and deep, forces his heartbeat to slow. _Fear paralyzes you, _Tony tells himself, stretching his fingertips experimentally. _Don't let fear cloud your judgement. Be calm and observe your surroundings. _

Tony blinks in relief when the sounds begin to come back slowly, little by little, and then voices at the end of his bed snag his attention.

He elbows himself up, and can't believe his damn eyes. 

It's _Barnes. _

Barnes and a wide-shouldered, muscular man, making out, the air taut with uncharted sexual energy and broken occasionally by conversation between the two men. Tony's about to have a fucking heart attack, and he looks around wildly, _knows _it's not a hospital. Clint's not with him, and two objectively handsome men are going at it like bunnies at the foot of his bed. 

_Oh, hell no. _Tony's not going to take anymore of Barnes' psychotic bullshit.

So he clears his throat loudly, glaring daggers into Barnes' broad back. He waits till Barnes finished playing tango with the blond's tongue and sits up, a grin spreading on his face. The blond in question darts to his feet, blushing red, and Tony doesn't bother spare him either. "Fuck's sake, murder muffin," Tony says, alive and _annoyed_ and with all kinds of tangles in his voice, "Have some fucking decency for the guy who's literally three feet from you in a hospital bed, will you?"

"You fucking kidnapped me." Tony says, deadpan and flat. He stares at Barnes unflinchingly. 

"Well, _technically,_" Barnes tries to argue his case with a Cheshire shit-eating cat grin on his stupid face. "Technically, I brought you here to _save_ you. Doctors, they were here to keep your brains inside your pretty little head."

"If you have to get _technical _about it," Tony replies scathingly, arms crossed from his sitting position on the hospital bed. "Then you've got a pretty strong case going against you." Then, as an afterthought, because Tony feels like being an ass today, "Well then, Barnes, if the doctors are here to keep brains _inside_ heads, then what happened to you? Botched medical experiment?"

The blond, _Steve, _who instantly becomes _Rogers _in his head makes a strangled noise, like he's trying to choke in a guffaw. Tony eyes him for a moment, and Rogers immediately composes himself again, spine ramrod straight. The guy's probably military trained, Tony thinks, watches the way Rogers is standing, stiff and guarded. Barnes is entirely different. 

Barnes, for his part, is sitting on the floor by Tony's left side, metal arm propped against the bed, relaxed and completely at ease.

"C'mon doll," Barnes says with pleading eyes. "Don't be like that. Doctor says you gotta eat somethin', rest up, and you'll be back on your feet in three days, tops." Barnes turns to Rogers for help, who keeps lingering behind the brunet uncertainly, looking a little like a lost puppy. Tony thinks it's kind of adorable, and banishes the thought immediately. Right now, Tony doesn't know what to make of the whole situation. And it's not helping, have two incredibly attractive men by his bedside, eyes wide and hopeful. 

_No. _Tony _refuses_ to think they're adorable.

"All I know is," Tony decides to say, softening his tone. No need to be harsh and get on their bad sides. "that I wake up in a place that is obviously not a hospital, with a horny assassin and an infamous mobster, and my friend's gone. How do you explain this bullshit?" 

Barnes makes a thoughtful face, like he's finally seeing how when things, spelled out like that, can look a little questionable. "Okay, Tony. You got me." He stands up, stretches languidly like a cat, and Tony swallows, looking away and coughing. "I'm going. Enjoy yourself." Barnes starts out the door, leaving Tony and Rogers staring after him in confusion and surprise. 

Rogers looks alarmed, and pauses to say apologetically to Tony, "Your friend's just in the next room, I promise. We can go see him soon. My friend's taking care of him. I'm sorry, but I'll be right back," and rushes after Barnes. 

Rogers is definitely the sane one. 

Tony sighs, and decides it's time to play a little desperate. "_Okay, _Barnes. Come back. I am _not _going to wander around this deathtrap alone." 

Barnes pokes his head in the doorway, eyebrows raised. "I'm sorry, Barnes?"

"_Bucky,_" Tony grits out, teeth clenched. The guy is definitely testing his limits. "Bucky." He says it again, letting the name roll of his tongue. It's kind of nice. And sort of worth it, just to see the expression of happiness spread over Barnes'—no, _Bucky's _face. 

"Aw, look, Stevie, we're already bonding." Bucky says with a self-fulfilled smirk, and winks shamelessly at Tony. "First-name basis. What a fucking day," Bucky comments, plopping down on the seat opposite to Tony, and smiles. Tony closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose. God, the guy is a human nightmare. An attractive, horny, out-of-control assassin with a dirty smirk. It's like the heavens are having a hell of a time, screwing with his life in ways unimaginable.

Rogers starts up, looking like he's forgotten something. "Tony," he says, hesitantly. "Can I call you that?" At Tony's mystified nod, he continues. "I completely forgot to ask. Are you thirsty, or hungry? I can get you something," he offers with a small smile. 

Tony's mouth drops open. "What the fuck," he says. "What the fuck, Bucky. This guy has manners that would make my grandmother swoon, what the _hell _happened to yours?" 

"I've got a lot of other things that could make your grandmother swoon," Bucky replies, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Stevie there can vouch for me."

Tony laughs, short and wry. "Somehow, both of your credibility points are a little low." Then remembers, and smiles sheepishly at Rogers. "Thank you," he says awkwardly. "And yeah. A glass of water would be nice." Rogers looks relieved now that he's been given something to do, and bolts out the door like a deer from oncoming headlights. Tony watches him leave hastily, and looks back at Bucky. "So, you guys boning or dating?"

Tony's never been one to dance around important matters. And he knows, the easiest way to find out what exactly is going on, is through Bucky. Bucky, who's a little loose with his tongue and easy to talk to. But Tony also genuinely wants to know more about him. After all, the guy _did _save his life. In the cafe, and in whatever this place is, Bucky has saved his life more than once. And Tony owes a debt.

A Stark always pays his debts.

Bucky holds his hand over his heart in a gesture of mock betrayal, and squints at him. "Wow. I call it making 'love'," he says pointedly. "Because I'm a delicate person, and there are many, many other ways to describe Stevie's and I's relationship, but _boning _is not one of them." Tony's familiar with deflection, and it's a tactic he himself employs often when he gives an answer that's not an answer. It's a welcome challenge, that Bucky isn't an open book.

"Okay," Tony says, playing along. "Who'd have thought you were a gentleman when it comes to love?"

Bucky chuckles, shoots Tony an amused smile. "When it comes to love, Tony, I'm your Albert Einstein. Your regular Stephen Hawkings. Show me a man I cannot win over, and I'll give you my damn arm." He wiggles his metal fingers at Tony, making his point.

"Your confidence is swaggering," Tony tells him. "And that's disgusting," Tony shoots back, pretending to gag. "The fuck would I do with your arm?"

Bucky's eyes brighten instantly, and Tony realizes with a gut-sinking feeling he's just stepped on a bomb. "Well, Tony, remember when I was talking about twenty-first century millennial customs and—"

"Hey, asshole, I don't want to know about your disturbing, murder-muffin fucking fetishes—"

Rogers strides in, pauses, Tony's drink in hand, and closes his eyes. "I can't believe there's two of them." Rogers takes a pillow from Tony's bed, and chucks it at Bucky's face, and Tony breaks off mid sentence to laugh at the expression of shock on Bucky's face. It's hilarious, the way Bucky stares at Rogers in personal offence like someone kissed his mother and spat in her face. Tony admires the challenging glint in Bucky's eye, the kind of challenge that kittens have when they swipe at shadows with soft claws and mewls. It's painfully obvious that the brunet assassin has a weakness for Rogers, and for once in his life, Tony sort of wishes he has a bond like that in his life. Tony's not the type of person to lay his heart on his sleeve for everyone to see, but when he loves, he loves hard. 

_Tiberius Stone _is a name that swims in the back of Tony's mind, in the dark pool he never dares to venture into. Every moment with _Ty _was like walking on hot coals in a trance. Tony had loved him, bared his heart and soul open, and Ty had crushed it underfoot without a second glance. It was bliss, for a short while, but Tony still ended up with burns on his feet and thorns jagged in his heart. It's a sorry sight, to see a man left behind by a loved one, and an even harsher sight, to see them build walls up so high their own mother can't see through sometimes. 

But Tony doesn't mind. 

No, he doesn't mind at all. He protects himself with flippant words and the kind of smile that lights people up from the inside, and is more full of life than anyone he's ever met. 

"Tony?" Rogers draws him sharply from his thoughts, pulls him back in, and Tony blinks and stares right into Rogers' cornflower blue eyes. 

From the corner of his eye, Tony sees Bucky watching him quietly, intent and observing. It's times like these he can totally see why Bucky can be eerie, and such a successful assassin. "Yeah, thank you. Thanks." Tony says awkwardly, taking the glass of water Rogers offers and taking a long, slow sip. It's delicious, and Tony gulps the liquid in, downing the cup in seconds. Rogers is looking down at him with curious eyes, and Tony raises an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Oh, sorry," Rogers says bashfully, averting his gaze. "Didn't mean to stare. It's just, you seem pretty calm with the fact that Bucky's an assassin and I'm a," he trails off, searching for a word. "A mobster, like you said. I'm a Carter."

It's cute. Rogers is agonizingly polite, says _sorry _like a child says _mama, _but the truth to Rogers' inquiry is that Tony doesn't let himself dwell too long on that particular fact, because once he does, Tony's brain is going to explode from the bullfuckery of the statement. So Tony puts a smile on his face, and blinks innocently at Rogers. "I thought you were a Rogers, Rogers."

"No, I am," Rogers intones with a nod. "I took my mother's name. The Carter crime family used to be lead by my aunt Peggy, but when her daughter didn't want the position," Rogers lifts a shoulder in a shrug. "I was volunteered." Rogers' voice goes a little hard, mouth a little thinner, and Tony doesn't think it was by Rogers' choice. "We're not," he continues, faltering a little bit. Bucky stands, and Tony watches inquisitively as Bucky touches Rogers' shoulder with his own, like standing support in camaraderie. "We're not bad people, Tony. I'm sorry if you're afraid of us, but we're not going to hurt you. I know what the news say," Rogers hurriedly adds, like he's worried Tony will start shouting obscenities and accusations. "And some of it's true, but some of it is completely not. But honest, I'm trying to make the family better. Trying to _do _better, hurt less people."

Then Rogers twiddles his thumbs. "Call me Steve."

"I don't think you're going to hurt me," Tony says carefully, folding his hands into his lap. He's not scared. "And you don't have to prove anything to me." he holds his palms open, and takes a breath. "From what I've seen, Bucky is a good person, and he saved my life," he charges on, points a finger at Bucky, who's smirking like the president just kissed his feet. "Don't make me regret saying that. And you're an obscenely polite crimelord. I'm not in any position to judge whether your organization or your family is evil or whatever. I'm not going to narc on you guys to the cops, either. I owe Bucky there my life. I'm just a kid," now his voice is soft, and Tony struggles to say the rest. "I'm just a College freshman with a serious coffee addiction. I'm just grateful you haven't killed me yet." And for that, Tony looks Rogers right in the eye. 

Rogers makes a noise of horror and shakes his head vehemently. "I would _never _harm an innocent." And Tony believes him, because no one says anything with that much conviction without believing it with their whole mind and body. 

"He's right. Sounds cliche, but we only deal with the bad guys." Bucky shoots him a flirty smile, leaning on the wall with his arms crossed. "And occasionally, with mouthy, pretty, floppy-haired college freshmen, but that's just an occasional side thing." 

"I will have to object to be being referred to as a 'side thing'," he tells Bucky, and slowly moves into a sitting position with his legs dangling off the bed. "I have taken the Carter family situation completely in stride, and the assassin as well, but I've got to ask," Tony says with a questioning look at both of them. "Am I going to have to tick 'kidnapped and held prisoner' off my bucket list? And, you better let me see Clint." Ends that with a statement, because it's non-negotiable. Rogers says that Clint is right in the next room with a friend watching over him, but Tony will relax when he's got his friend back at arms length.

"Of course, Tony," Rogers assures him immediately, and that's the moment Tony's brain makes the transition from Rogers to _Steve, _and it never quite goes back. 

Steve shares a meanginful look with Bucky, who turns to Tony, a smile curled on his lips. "Nope," he says, popping the 'p'. "You can leave. Say the word, and we'll have someone drop you off at your boring, lonely dorm room, and back to your droning college lectures. But you sure you want to? Doctor's orders dictate at least three days of rest..." Bucky trails off, sashays to the door, hips rolling. Tony can't help but look, because Bucky _does _have a fantastic backside. Steve looks like he's trying to hold back a laugh, and watches Bucky with an amused smile. "And I promise, I fucking _promise_, that you won't regret it. You might learn something new in that pretty head of yours."

It's an enticing offer. And Tony loves to tempt fate, taunt at it with both hands tied behind his back, a sword tipped down his throat. 

And honestly, he knows whatever this is, he's not done with it yet. There's nothing pressing back home, nothing that requires his urgent attention, and Tony's never been one to shy away from an adventure that's likely to leave him facedown in the mud, destroyed and absolutely craving for _more_. 

And Bucky's eyes are wide and hopeful, and Steve is studying Tony like he's something he doesn't quite understand yet. 

So he meets their eyes, head-on, and shows off a toothy grin. "Then I'm down for it. Three days, till this shitty head wound stops hurting."

They let him go to Clint. 

Clint's awake, squinting suspiciously at everyone who takes one step into his room. Tony settles on the bed, scans him for injuries. "Hey," Tony says, quietly. "You alright?"

"Yeah," Clint grumbles, reaches up to part Tony's hair away from his head. "You look like shit."

"I know," Tony says. He thinks he might need to lie down soon. He definitely feels like shit. "You're not so pretty yourself."

Clint looks past Tony's shoulder, sees Steve and Bucky locked in a quiet conversation by the door with a redhead Tony remembers seeing in the room with Clint. He assumes it's the friend Steve had mentioned. "What the hell was in that coffee, Tones?" Clint asks, softly. 

It's a loaded question, Tony thinks. One he doesn't know how to answer. "What did the redhead tell you?"

"No reason we should believe any of it," Clint says. "But her name's Natasha, and she said that the blond over there is Steve Rogers, head of the Carter crime family. And the man with him is Bucky Barnes, second-in-command and assassin." He gives Tony a long look. "Are we captives, Tony?"

He shakes his head, rubs at his face. "No, we're not. They told me I could leave, just say the word." Tony feels uncomfortable, anxious now, because he doesn't know how he's going to get Clint to agree to any of it. Or even understand, without sounding batshit crazy. "But I've decided to stay here for three days, doctor's orders. At least I know they'll treat me here, and if I go back... Clint, I'm in college. Money's tight."

"Doctor's orders?" Clint echoes incredulously. "Are you fucking with me? Did they drug you?" Clint moves, and Tony puts a hand on his chest, and gently pushes back. "You can't _stay, _Tony, this is serious. It's not about your head injury, goddamn, _I'll _give you the money to get it treated. No, actually, maybe we'll make _them, _because it's because of them you've got a head injury. Fucking ridiculous. We saw Bucky kill at least four guys, who _knows_ what they could be capable of."

He can't think of a thing to say to Clint, doesn't know how to say what he feels because it probably will come out garbled and a fucking mess. "Clint, listen. I'm staying," and doesn't bother trying to explain. "Just give me three days. And then we'll get back to our normal lives." 

Clint's face folds up, and Tony winces. "Do you want to stay here _because _our lives back home are normal?"

Tony doesn't expect Clint to pick up on that. But it's not a shock, barely anything gets past Clint. "Well, are we really needed back there?" he asks, throwing his hands up. This is making him question his own decisions. "I mean, I want to know what kind of life Bucky and Steve has, and it's just for three days..." he trails off helplessly, risks a glance over his shoulder and finds Bucky and Steve watching them, patiently. 

The redhead, Natasha_, _is gone. 

Bucky decides to step in, and calls out helpfully, "You know, you don't have to stay, Clint. Tony's right. We'll drop you back at your place if that's what you want." 

Tony looks back at Clint, and hopes with both fingers crossed that Clint says _no. _

Clint heaves a sigh, glares at Tony. "Fuck. _Fine. _I'm not letting you stay here alone. You're not a cat, and curiosity is not going to kill you. Not while I'm here watching your back." 

Steve flinches, and it's subtle and Tony nearly doesn't catch it, but he mouths _sorry _to Steve anyway. Clint seems resolute in his opinion, shoulders tense. The air is taut with tension, but Steve has his head high and isn't about to back down. 

"Are you guys hungry?" Bucky asks, cutting in smoothly and Tony nearly crumples in relief. He shoots Bucky a grateful smile. "Come on, Clint, we're not that bad. I saved your ass, remember? Give us a chance." Bucky steps forward, face open and relaxed. He's trying to make Clint feel more comfortable, and it's sweet. It is. 

Steve hangs back, but still offers Clint a smile. "We do have a pretty good canteen, and today's menu is roasted chicken with mashed potatoes and steamed carrots." 

"It's smart," Clint tells them after a beat, "Trying to lure me in with food. And it's working. But I've still got my eye on you two, so don't start fucking with me and Tony."

Bucky rolls his eyes, offers a hand to Tony, and he takes it, sliding to his feet. "I'll gladly take up that option with Tony," he says and winks. Clint looks faintly baffled, and opts to narrow his eyes. 

Tony groans, and shakes his head. "Bucky, I'm not going to—" then he sighs, exasperated and loud, a little dramatically. 

"Is he always this horny?" Clint asks, squinting at Bucky, who smiles winningly. Tony gives Clint a hand in standing up, not that it's needed. 

"Yes," Steve informs them in a brisk tone, and moves towards the door. "It's like a disease. Tony, I'm glad you're staying for a while. Clint, we're not going to hurt you. I'm in charge here, and you're safe, I promise. Like Buck said, give us a chance and we just might prove you wrong. Now let's move, everyone. The canteen fills up quick, and well, there a few people I want you to meet."

There's a lot riding on Tony's head now, he thinks. Clint's involved, and he hopes to God that he's made the right decision.

Because if there's one thing Tony's promised to himself, is that if there's gonna be blood on his hands, it will only be his own. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, please leave a comment and a kudos if you liked it. Any thoughts, any suggestions, please share it!  
Thank you for reading.


	5. Chapter 5

It's easy to see why Bucky is so enamored by the spirited, lively brunet. 

It's because they match each other so well, word or word, insult for insult, like puzzle pieces. 

Tony's all soft curves fitting in Bucky's hard edges.

And it should make him a little bit jealous, Steve reflects, the way the two brunets walk alongside the other, teasing each other good-naturedly. It should set off some predatory instinct inside him, seeing Bucky brush his shoulder against Tony, to see the soft smile Tony tries to hide whenever he looks off to the side. Clint walks by Tony, a little stiffly, scanning their surroundings with suspicious eyes.

All it does, though, seeing them together, is make him _curious. _It's completely unprecedented. Tony wakes up, flustered and confused and Steve can see the fear in those doe brown eyes, and yet Tony agrees to stay. Steve doesn't need anyone to tell him it's a bad, shitpoor idea, but he also doesn't let anyone tell him what to do. If Tony's a mistake, then he's _Steve and Bucky's_ mistake.

Every agent, every employee in the hallway stares at them when they walk by. They shoot dubious, confused glances at Steve and Bucky, because it must be as clear as day that Tony and Clint are civilians. Who are _not _supposed to be roaming free in the hallways.

Steve chases them all away with one hard look. They go scuttling, heads ducked, and Steve's stressed again, because he wishes it could all be that easy. 

He feels a headache coming on.

It's going to be an absolute nightmare, dealing with his siblings, Sharon, and Peggy herself, and explaining what the hell they were thinking, bringing civilians into their operations. The thought of the many long, emotionally exhausting conversations he will invetiably have because of this decision makes him a little tenser, and Bucky notices.

His best friend hangs back to match his pace, looking halfway between concerned and worried. "Stevie, it'll be okay," Buck says, reaching out with his metal hand and gently grasping Steve's shoulder. 

It's familiar and a comfort, so Steve leans into the touch. "Yeah," he says. "You're right. I can deal with Peggy. And once she's on board, the rest will back down."

"Definitely," Bucky agrees. "No one's ballsy enough to challenge you about it upfront. And," he says, shrugging. "The place is big. Tony's only here for three days. Maybe they won't even find out."

"Sure," Steve snorts, rolling his eyes. "Our luck, though, that this place is filled with super spies." 

They round the corner to the canteen, and Tony and Clint stop short. Tony looks nervous, shifting about. 

"Stop acting suspicious," Bucky tells him. "You shuffle your feet one more time and one paranoid super spy inside might decide to blow your brains out."

Steve sighs, and Bucky's eyes widen, like he's just now realizing how winding someone up like Tony and Clint might go horribly, with no prior experience to dealing with things Steve and Bucky has to on a daily basis. A civilian like Tony might just decide to have a panic breakdown. Bucky holds his breath, and so does Steve. 

Tony takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a second. "Is this a good idea?" then immediately follows that with, "It's a good idea. Shut it, everyone."

Clint rolls his eyes. ''This is Tony talk for 'Reflecting Regretfully on Decisions' and reassuring himself."

"It's just food, Tony," Bucky interrupts quickly. "You know, the thing that our bodies need to survive?"

"My body doesn't need food," Tony says, petulant. "It needs _coffee, _something I've gone too long without. One more hour without it, I'll fucking combust."

"At least some things don't change," Clint chuckles, pats Tony on the shoulder and moves past him into the canteen. Bucky follows him, telling Steve in an undertone he'll watch out for Clint. Tony stares after them, then looks at Steve for advice. Which he really shouldn't do, because Steve's brain is too cluttered to be able to help. But he's a leader here, he's in _charge, _so he's gotta start acting like it. 

"Come on, Tony. I'll guide you." Steve says, and leads Tony inside. Curious looks follow them, but it's definitely admirable to see that Tony pays them no mind, striding past with his head high and eyes fixed on Steve. He does it with more cool grace than Steve would admit to expecting, but he's already come to the conclusion Tony's full of unexpected surprises.

They make their way to the coffee machine, and Steve tells him, "This is a brand new machine my friend Sam ordered. It's great, and we imported South American coffee beans too. There's also fresh milk, cream, and sugars, if you take it that way," and he gestures to the small station beside it. 

"Wow. Not one sexual innuendo in that whole sentence," Tony observes, amused, pressing buttons on the machine expertly, and one second later, pure black coffee drains into the mug. Steve watches the entire thing with wide eyes. The way Tony takes his coffee violates his entire presumption on the legal limit of caffeine intake an adult can consume. "Were you born with perfect manners or was it a life skill you saw Bucky lacked and decided to pick up along the way?"

Tony downs the rest of the mug, refills it, stares Steve right in the eye. Steve laughs. It's startling how quick of an accurate impression Tony has formed of them. "In my position, I'm expected to be able to talk deals and have a calm head. Manners just come with the territory," he shrugs. "Sometimes, being extremely polite to crime lords have a way of intimidating them."

"Really," Tony says, mystified. "So if I ever get kidnapped by a mobster boss all I have to do is rough him up with some manners and talk nice to him, and he'll let me go?"

Steve shakes his head, a smile curling on his lips. He wonders, for the first time, if Tony has a boyfriend who's anxiously awaiting his return. Then abruptly, realizes it's something he'd rather not think about. "If you ever get kidnapped by a mobster," Steve decides to say instead, "Which I highly unrecommend, then—"

"Oh yeah," Tony's nose crinkles in a smile and it's adorable. "I'll be sure to give it one star on Yelp reviews and leave a scorned comment."

"If you're looking for ways to die," Steve tells him, "There are many easier ways than _that_."

"Yelp, really? I thought mobsters were supposed to be hip and in trend." Tony looks up at him, dark brown eyes warm, and it pulls Steve in like a moth to a flame. He should really ask Tony if he knows how magnetic he is. Here, it might not be a good thing, and he's already receiving a lot of attention. It won't be long till Steve's family gets word of Tony's stay,

"Well, what can I say," Steve says in a hushed whisper. "Mobsters are extremely sensitive to social criticism on websites like Yelp." He nudges Tony's shoulder, and directs him to the growing lunch line. "Go stand for a plate before the food runs out," he teases. Tony gives him an indulgent look, smiles cheerfully, and saunters away, grabbing a plate and waiting his turn. 

Steve leans against the coffee station table, keeps an eye on Tony, distractedly, and tries to strategize. Peggy is going to be appalled if the family discovers a civilian in their midst under Steve's nose, and the end of he story is: _and then I had to ship Tony out in a body bag to avoid a public scandal, again. _Peggy might even deem him unfit to become her replacement, and choose, God forbid, someone like _Damien _to take Steve's place. He would be less worried if Sharon, Peggy's own daughter, would accept the holy mantle, but like him, Sharon's more interested in making her own way in the world, without the weight of belonging to a notorious crime family on her back. 

"Hey, Steve," Natasha says from behind him, and Steve turns around, smiling at the sight of his old friend. 

"Nat," he says, and offers her a mug. "Coffee?"

"I would," she replies, taking the offered mug. "But you're blocking it."

Steve huffs in embarrassment, and steps aside. Nat smiles fondly, dumps two creams and one sugar in her coffee. She gives him a long, assessing look and then says, casually, "So, I take it that you've allowed the civilians to stay?" 

It's her way of asking, _what the heck are you doing, Steve, _and he knows her well enough to answer honestly. "Maybe I'm looking to expand into the beds and breakfast business," he answers with an easy shrug of his shoulders. "You were with us on the rescue. Bucky wouldn't leave them behind."

"That's hardly an excuse," she says, sipping her coffee. "Barnes has a thing for cute strays. But yeah, they're definitely something."

"How do you figure?" Steve asks, raising an eyebrow. "You didn't spend any time with him."

Nat gives him a look of pure disappointment, and Steve winces. She's always been good at reading people, knows how they are before they even open their mouths. Nat's always been one of those people who can disquiet someone with just a stare, and not for the first time, he's so relieved that she's on their side. His side.

"Don't think I haven't noticed Tony's exactly Bucky's type, and..." she tilts her head at him wordlessly, teasing, and chuckles softly when Steve makes a face, but feels his cheeks warming anyway. And he absolutely does not mention it, because that would be incriminating himself.

"Nat," he protests. "It's not like that. Tony's.... Tony. He's only here for three days."

She lets out a breath, stares off into the distance. "Sure, Steve." Then her tone drops, becomes serious. "But make sure you win the game you're playing."

"I will." He says, sure and clear. Steve knows that Nat's with him and Bucky on this, no matter what. He's not alone.

"Come join us," Steve invites, and decides to head to Bucky, who's sitting with Clint and Tony on the far side of the canteen. The canteen is quieter than usual, tension lacing the air subtly. After all, Clint and Tony are outsiders. And the Carter family has no business with outsiders. Steve makes a mental note to meet his Aunt Peggy directly after he gets Clint and Tony settled in for the evening, and make sure every member of his team is accounted and cared for. 

Nat pads silently behind him, green eyes scanning each table full of agents. She's a solid presence, and Steve feels more at ease, knowing her and Bucky are with him on this one. Bucky grins as soon as they near the table, and Tony and Clint glance up. Steve waits till Nat slides into a seat next to Clint, who shuffles to make room, and then he takes a seat next to Tony, who gives him an endearing smile and picks up his spoon to continue . 

"Damn, punk, you forgot your plate." Bucky says, gesturing to the empty space in front of him. "C'mon. You're 220 pounds, you burn through calories like a sex addict burns through porn."

"Buck, we're eating," he scolds. Tony smothers a laugh, and Bucky smirks, satisfied. "S'okay, I'm not hungry anyway," Steve waves a hand, flippantly. He is. But he wants to stay here, talk to his friends a little more. Lunch is nearly over, and after this, it's about to get busy. 

"Lies," Tony says, and smiles, lazy and crooked. "I'll get one for you. You didn't exaggerate about the roast chicken." 

Steve opens his mouth to refuse, because he can tell Tony's famished and not even half way done with his own plate. He watches as the smaller brunet stands up and walks to the lunch line, and then turns to look at Clint, who looks blissfully unaware that he's alone in the midst with three very dangerous people.

"So," Clint says, placing his cutlery on the plate. "I have questions." He glances to Nat, and it's strange, because Nat's also focusing on Clint. With people who aren't them, _the family, _Nat's not the type to give just anyone her full attention. Steve wonders, for a moment, if when he assigned Nat to guard Clint's room that they got to talking, and it's why Nat hasn't gone against him on the decision to bring in civilians yet. 

Nat cocks her head, takes another sip from her mug. "Ask away."

"Who were those guys that shot at me, Tony and Bucky this morning? And what exactly do you all do, just enough details for plausible deniability, please." Clint says, folds his hands on the table and waits.

Steve raises his eyebrows at the last bit, and it's not wrong. Clint and Tony _do _deserve an explanation to what happened to them. "The men that shot you, was from a rival family. They work for Alex McCullough, who's been giving us some trouble." He's purposefully vague, and Clint nods along, listening intently. "Bucky was there to do recon, and spotted him. Thus the chase. You were unfortunately in the crossfire."

"This is why the people have negative views on us, Steve," Nat says. "Sometimes civilians get caught in the crossfire. And there are casualties."

"It's something I've been trying to prevent." Steve says ruefully. The guilt's always been heavy on his chest, target on his back, the moment he was forced to take the mantle after Sharon disavowed it. If you get technical about it, a crime family is a crime family. They do illegal things. Theyhurt people, _kill _people. Steve's never been able to sleep soundly a week without at least a few nightmares, and sometimes he wishes he had less of a conscience. 

Just so things would be easier. 

But he has responsibilities, a _duty _to his family, the people he works with, and the people who's been with him since he was a child.Steve was raised a leader, trusted to be a leader, and he'll damn well do his best. 

"Steve is our leader," Nat tells Clint evenly. "Bucky and I work with him, sort of his second-in-commands. We have a bigger team, but you haven't met them. We do all kinds of things."

"Steve's a good leader," Bucky says softly, and looks grim, a shadow on his face. "He's always tried his best for us, for his family. But in our line of work, I can't deny we've hurt people. But unless we can fucking help it," Bucky's jaw tightens a notch. "_never _innocents."

"Mobsters with a conscience and moral fortitude," Clint says, perplexed. 

And it gains a unanimous nod around the table.

Tony clears his throat, and shuffles into his vacant seat. "What did I miss?" he asks, promptly sensing the atmosphere with raised eyebrows. He gently slides the plate across and Steve takes it, smiling gratefully. He begins to cut into the chicken, suddenly ravenous once he gets a whiff of the roast chicken. 

"Just some explanations I wanted to know." Clint says simply. "Nothing that concerns you, airhead."

Tony gasps, feigns betrayal. "Why, Birdbrain, you're being rude. Gotta show our dear Captain we normal folks _also_ have manners."

It looks like Tony has an unhealthy obsession with his manners_, _Steve thinks, charmed, and slightly concerned with Tony's priorities in life. He leans over, mouth open to tell Tony what they've been discussing when a heavy hand grasps his shoulder, and Steve looks up to see his close friend Sam Wilson. Sam's brows are furrowed, which usually means something is wrong. 

"Everyone, this is Sam. He works with us." Steve says quickly, glancing expectantly up at his friend. 

"Steve," Sam says, voice low. "Someone ratted you out to Erik. The family knows you've brought them in. Peggy's asked to see you."

It's not a surprise but it's enough to send his shoulders snapping into a stiff line. He meets Bucky's gaze across the table, and mouths, _Erik. _

"Tell him to get fucked," Bucky suggests, while Steve sighs and rubs his temples. "Tell him I said to get—"

"Bucky," Steve says. Bucky looks away, jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. Erik is a sore subject for all of them, and Steve directs his eyes heavenward, feeling exhausted already. If Peggy's asked to see him, then either she's already waiting for him to argue his case or she already has her decision made, and Tony and Clint could be in danger. 

"Bucky, too," Sam adds, a small frown on his face. "Apparently she wants a personal briefing on the recon mission you did, and what went wrong. She thinks McCullough is involved." 

Bucky rolls his eyes, and his metal fingers twitch, like he wants to wrap his hands around something and twist hard. "That's bullshit. It had nothing to do with us."

Steve works his jaw, tries to plan another approach. He knew Erik would find out, but not _this _soon. "Buck, you're coming with me," he decides. Bucky nods grudgingly, fingers flexing harder. "Nat, find Wanda and the three of you take care of Clint and Tony." he says, eyes trained on Tony. The brunet looks worried, dark brown eyes wide and eyebrows crinkled. Steve wants to make it disappear. 

Bucky looks at him, sends him a sidelong glance. "Stevie, you sure?" 

He's asking if Steve thinks Tony and Clint will be safe. 

"Bucky," Nat cuts in gently, places a soft hand on Bucky's metal one. "I've got them."

If anyone can protect them here, it's Natasha. 

"I'll find a safe place for them," Sam agrees, crossing his muscled arms across his chest. "To make sure it's a good fit, Clint why don't you come with me? I can answer any questions you have."

Tony frowns. "Is it a good idea to split me and Clint up?"

"Yeah, I'm here to watch Tones' back. He's absolute shit at it." Clint says, eyes Sam warily. 

"We'll get you back to each other within an hour or two. This will give us a chance to know you better." Nat promises, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear. 

"That's a good idea," Steve says, standing up. The rest of the group straightens. "Sam, Nat, we'll meet up later once Buck and I gets things sorted out."

Bucky blows out a breath, and Steve looks right back. The group disperses, Sam leading a cautious Clint away who tousles Tony's hair affectionately before following, and Nat getting up to lead Tony away. Steve reaches across and snags his shirt back, and Tony yelps softly in surprise, stumbling back. Steve chuckles, tries to hold back a smile at the show of adorable clumsiness. Nat looks back, eyes glinting in understanding and steps away, waiting to the side.

"Hey, it'll be alright. Nat will keep you safe." Steve says, towering over the smaller brunet. For his part, he tries to make himself smaller for the sake of looking un-threatening, and Bucky snorts behind him. 

Tony blinks slowly, and then heaves a little sigh. "If it's this much trouble, I'd be happy to leave," Tony says uncertainly. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all."

"Doll," Bucky says, sauntering up. "Now what was our deal? Remember, three days? Can't ditch us before then." a smile hooks up the corner of his lips. 

Steve laughs. "That's true. Now you wouldn't want us to think you weren't a man of your word, right?"

The unease falls away from Tony's face and he smiles up at them, and Steve's heart skips a beat. "I _did _say that," he teases back. "And I am a man of my word. Can you guys really handle this? I don't want to be a trouble. I _won't _be." Tony says fiercely, eyes bright, expectant. 

"We can handle it." Steve says, confident and wonders if Tony really trusts them with his life, because that's exactly what he's doing. Then he wonders if Tony even _knows _it. "Right, Buck?"

"Till the end of the line." Bucky says, and gives Steve an absolutely _predatory _grin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, please leave a kudos and a comment (I'd really love it). Any thoughts or suggestions, let me know! Is the story too slow, too fast, am I butchering the characters?


	6. Chapter 6

They've marched Steve and Bucky down to Peggy's private office, and Bucky almost takes it personally that there are only three guards positioned inside the room, and two outside, eyeing Steve and him with distaste and suspicion. They stand tall, chest puffed, like they think they can take Steve and Bucky down if it really comes to it. 

So, just to be a little shit, Bucky flexes his metal arm, letting the machinery whir and stares at them in the eye.

They look away quickly at that, or an eye twitch betrays their discomfort because there's something fundamentally _wrong _with hearing _metal _where flesh should be. It used to bother him, the skittery looks and incredulous expressions, or whispered gossips and taunts at his missing limb replaced with metal. 

How it was so damn _unnatural._

He tried to hide with long sleeves and jackets, but then Steve happened, and Steve told him to stop being _scared _and face up to the bullies. Steve put his hands on Bucky's shoulders, said it right to his face, honest and sure. 

Steve had always hated bullies.

The guard standing by Peggy's desk is definitely a bully, Bucky thinks, twirling his favorite knife absentmindedly. There's that mean glint in his eye, the type that likes to lord their own power over others. The knife slips smoothly between his fingertips, blade glimmering. The guard seems personally offended by the sight, and Bucky smirks.

"Stop antagonizing the guards, Buck." Steve whispers with a tense sideways glance. 

"I'm not," Bucky hisses back, but puts the knife back in his holster anyway. The guard seems placated, and turns to stare at another bright spot on the wall. 

Peggy clears her throat. She's a formidable woman, with dark brown hair pulled into a neat bun and clever, shrewd eyes, and a wicked mouth. She's what Bucky's mom would have been like if she'd lived. "Gentlemen," she says. "If you would focus."

Bucky sniffs, looks down. "Sorry," he mutters. "What are we here for, ma'am?"

Peggy's eyes flicks up, trains on his face. It takes another long moment before she says, "Why don't you brief me on what happened this morning, Sergeant Barnes?" 

He wonders if he should lie, just to save face that he was outed by a couple of rookie agents. But then he remembers the last poor fella who lied to Peggy Carter, and ended up in a ditch with two black eyes and a broken arm so it's an easy decision. "Well," he begins, clears his throat a bit. "For the past month we've been working up detailed accounts of McCollough's breach of territory. Reports say he's been crossing into our territory, trying to hoard supplies, contracting new suppliers and discouraging others from buying."

Steve tries to help, bless him, "We were gathering—" and shuts up the second Peggy shoots him her signature _really _look. 

"Anyways," Bucky continues, digging inside his mind. He's always been shitpoor at remembering stuff, like what he had for breakfast, but Peggy's staring at him, unimpressed, and it's a little stressful. "I received intel yesterday evening that a weapons transaction was occurring this morning, in _our _jurisdiction. So I went for recon, maybe to get some names and faces, just to observe."

"Observe," Peggy repeats wryly, thumbing through a stack of paperwork on her desk. "You normally get near-riddled with bullets when you observe something?" 

Steve's jaw is jumping, and he knows it's a sign Steve's worried. Bucky's going to have to draw the conversation out so Steve can get whatever it is that's in his head all sorted out. _Ah, _he thinks, _the things you do for love._

"Not usually," Bucky admits, running a finger down the side of the leather handle of his knife. "Standard recon. No monkey business. All the guys there were normal rookies, though, none of McCullough's typical henchmen. Not pro, but not amateur. Four guys were selling the merch, y'know, guns, grenades, whatnot. There were only three on the buyer's side, wearing some kind of weird black-get up gear, looks kinda high-tech. " he says, and Peggy's got this weird look on her face that flits across but vanishes a second later. 

"The three men who were buying, you said?" Peggy asks sharply, snagging a pen and jotting something down on a notebook. "Did they have a red crest of an eagle on their shoulder?"

Bucky thinks, then nods. "Yeah, yeah I think I remember seeing that. Why, is it important??"

He looks to Steve, whose face is intrigued. "Red crest of an eagle?" Steve muses. "I've never seen it before."

Peggy drops the pen, jaw notched a little tighter. Bucky shifts on the edge of his seat, mystified. It must mean something, if it's got Peggy all wound tight and hard. "How did they find you?" she asks, intently focusing on him. It's disconcerting, but he shrugs it off. 

"I was up on a beam near the ceiling of the warehouse," Bucky says slowly, unsure. He hasn't thought about his recon mission at all. Not since Tony and Clint happened. "I don't know exactly what happened but someone pulled a gun, shot one of the suppliers, and I was about to get out when someone saw me." It's replaying in his head, _the man in black pulling a Glock and shooting point-blank at a supplier. The supplier crumples, panic spreads, and Bucky's already moving, out the skylight he came in. Then he hears a whiz, and a thunk, and the same man wearing black is crouched opposite to him, guns drawn. _"It wasn't messy. I got away, but they chased me." 

Steve frowns, looks at him. "You were on a beam and the buyer's goon was good enough to get the drop on you?"

"He got up fast," Bucky says and lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "I fought him off. I don't know. I didn't get to see the aftermath below."

"Did you identify any faces?" Peggy asks. "We need names. If they're not with McCullough, I need to know if there's a new player in the game, and if it means trouble."

"None," Bucky says, taps the metal of the blade. "But I remember seeing the man in black, the one who caught up. I knocked the gear off his head, and I can probably produce a sketch if you really need it. McCullough knows better than to fuck with us," he adds solemnly. "But if he's partnered with a new player and is making a move, we need to shut it up before word gets out."

Bucky is, after all, _very _good at shutting things up. 

"We need to approach this diplomatically," Peggy says, with emphasis. "No violence, no black ops. Not yet. This is new intel, it will take a few hours or a day to verify, and until then, I don't want any squabbles." She glances to Steve, raises an eyebrow expectantly. 

It's disappointing, Bucky thinks. He would've liked to show them just _how _much they shouldn't be fucked with. But it's not his decision, and ultimately, it's Steve and Peggy who has the final word. Bucky's just along for the ride. 

Steve looks aggravated, and Bucky shuffles to press his shoulder against his for a moment of silent support. Steve shoots him a grateful smile, and Bucky's glad to see the tension bleed out of his shoulders, even if it's just a tad. He worries about Steve sometimes. The guy stresses about anything and everything he can't fix, piles on the troubles of the world on his back, but Bucky doesn't have the heart to tell his best friend and boyfriend that he can't be everywhere all at once. 

And that he can't save _everyone. _

He doesn't see that kind of optimism in the world anymore, so he thinks he should just let it be. Steve's a better leader for it.

"And if it is McCullough?" Steve asks, apprehensive. "We can't afford to let him off easy. We've already got the Zola and his boys on our back. If they come looking for allies to push us out, McCullough would be a prime one."

"Zola's an asshole," Bucky says simply and Steve hums in agreement. "And he won't go after us, because the Carters don't do dirty business. He has no chips to play at our table." Zola's been a thorn in their side for years, greedy and a slimy bastard who benefits from the poor, and from filthy money. It's everything Steve hates about their side of the world. Bucky's always dreamed of putting at least three knives in Zola's back, after his botched money deal with the latest street scum that cost the lives of some neighborhood kids, who just happened to be at the wrong place in the wrong time. 

Steve had been furious, and wanted Zola to pay retribution to the kids' families. 

Peggy, on the other hand, had also shared Steve's hatred for the man but insisted Steve stand down, as they had no right to overstep into Zola's boundaries without sparking a war between the two groups. 

"If Zola's involved," Steve says slowly, and leans forward, elbows on knees. "You can't stop me this time."

"We don't know that." Peggy replies, and softens her tone. "I know he's done enough damage. But remember, Steve, don't be reckless. I taught you better than that."

"Don't worry, Ms. Carter," Bucky decides to jump in, and grins. "I'll watch out for Steve. Meanwhile, what do you want us to do?"

Peggy nods in answer, her eyes resting on Bucky's face. "Good. Right now, I'm going to get this intel verified, and we'll reconvene to discuss the next measures that should be taken. I want your team to run up on any leads you may have at this point, or train."

Steve's already on his way to standing up, but Bucky knows better. Peggy clears her throat, and fixes them both with a knowing stare.

"I know about the two civilians you brought in." she says, almost inquisitively. "Erik informed me."

Steve plops back down on his seat. Bucky looks away, fidgeting. He can't tell what Peggy wants to hear, or what she's thinking. Her face is calm and blank, waiting on their response. It must be a good sign she hasn't told Steve off, though, so Bucky's got his hopes. 

"Yes," Steve answers evenly. "They're here for a few days, and once we make sure they're safe and cared for, they'll return to their homes." Then he frowns, and tells her with an edge to his voice, "Erik has no business in the civilians."

Peggy entwines her hands on the table silently. "I'm not going to reprimand you like a child," she says. "You know better than that. And you know how Erik is. As next-in-line for my position," She pauses, then continues quietly, but not any less sure. "You need to be able to handle the family. And if those civilians are a mistake, then it's on your head, Steve."

It's exactly what Bucky was expecting. Peggy won't tell you what you're doing is a shitpoor, absolute clusterfuck of an idea, but she'll warn you, and she'll be happy watching on the sidelines if it blows up in your face. She's charming that way. 

"I know." Steve says. "I can handle it, I promise."

Sometimes Steve is so sincere Bucky kind of wants to whup him upside the head.

Bucky's been silent for a while now, so he says, to lighten the mood, "It's been a rough day," and pats Steve consolingly on the shoulder. "Steve finding out he's a brand-new mother to a pair of pesky boys. It's hard, being a single mom in today's world." He tells Peggy conspiratorially. 

"You've got your hands full with this one," Peggy tells Steve dryly, but she's got a smile hooked on her lips. She stands, straightens her blouse. "By the way, what are the names of these two civilians? They must be special." 

Bucky laughs, smiles. It's a fair question. He and Steve aren't known to bring in strays. "Tony Stark and Clint Barton."

Steve's eyebrows shoot up, and Bucky tells him smoothly, "I pulled their files when they were in the hospital."

Steve does not look surprised.

"Tony Stark?" Peggy echoes, distantly. A strange expression flits across her face, caught off guard in a way Peggy never is. "I see." She says, softer, and her gaze drops to the desk, corner of her mouth pulled tight. It's a tiny detail, a change in her posture that would be completely unnoticeable to someone that's not Bucky or Steve. 

"Peggy?" Steve ventures, cautious. 

"Well." She pats down her pencil skirt, gives them an easy smile Bucky knows is a diversion. "Steve, I'll be expecting you tomorrow morning. Good day, gentlemen." 

Bucky wonders if there's more Peggy's not telling them. He wants to ask, of course, but he also wants to leave with his eyeballs in his sockets. 

However, it's a clear dismissal from Peggy, and Steve says, "Of course." prim and proper as ever.

"Have a good day, Ms. Carter." Bucky says, mock salutes, and together he and Steve head for the door. 

Once the door to Peggy's office clicks shut, Steve turns to him and gives a little sigh. "Well that went better than expected," he says and carts his fingers through his blond hair. "No reprimands whatsoever."

"Erik, though," Bucky says, glances back at the shut door. "Was Peggy being weird?"

"Nope," Steve answers, clearly distracted. It's no use trying to make use of him when he's like this. "We should check up on Sam and Nat and how they're doing. I'll deal with Erik tonight." He leans against the wall, crosses his muscled arms. 

Bucky smirks, steps closer, just to see Steve's eyes track from his eyes to his lips. "I'm sure they're fine. Nat can handle all three.'" He's nose to nose with Steve, and there's a hitch in Steve's breath. Even after all these years, it's adorable how Steve can still get so flustered.

"But what about Tony, and Clint?" Steve protests, straightening. He's not much bigger than Bucky, but he's got broader shoulder. But Bucky's got more muscles, so he counts it as his win. "We really should..." he trails off as soon as Bucky gets right in his face, and presses his lips to Steve's cheek.

"You were sayin'?" Bucky murmurs, nosing down Steve's neck. Steve shifts, hot breath on Bucky's chin. Bucky continues his way down Steve's throat, leaves slow, gentle kisses that have Steve making small, satisfied noises. 

"Buck," Steve breathes, low and guttural and catches Bucky in an open mouthed kiss. It's deep and dirty, makes Bucky's chest coil in all the right ways, and Bucky slides a hand down Steve's broad chest, palming over Steve's pants and eliciting a soft moan. Then, just because he's a dick, he abruptly leans back and puts a full foot between them.

"Yeah." Bucky says. Steve pulls back, eyes wide. "You're right," Bucky beams and turns around, back to the blond. "We really should check on our precious cargo." 

"You're a fucking tease," Steve growls, shoulders Bucky into the wall and takes a bite at his throat. His hands are gentle, but fierce, and lights every part of Bucky's skin on fire. 

It's so damn nice, Bucky almost gives up, but then he remembers they're making out four feet away from Peggy fucking Carter and he dodges the next kiss and dances away, back towards the way they came from. "Don't swear, Stevie," he calls and waggles his hips seductively. "It's unbecoming on a blond American dream like you."

Bucky's chased Steve away, to deal with Erik, because it's a problem that they cannot afford to let fester. 

Erik is a shithead, no doubt, and Bucky knows _trouble _is the guy's middle name.

They cannot afford having a loose canon in the family right now, and much to Steve's dismay, he's stuck on Erik-watching duty.

Bucky made sure to promise Steve he's going to have all the fun. Steve had narrowed his eyes, promised retribution, and Bucky had made a completely inappropriate comment about BDSM punishment that got Steve blushing and hurrying on his way.

So right now, Bucky is perched in a secret room above the training center Natasha and Tony are in. It's not stalking, Bucky tells himself, it's _observing. _He needs to know if Nat's already traumatized Tony, or it's a work-in-progress. He half hopes to see Tony running to him, arms stretched, grateful and happy to see Bucky return. It'd do wonders for his ego.

If Nat could hear his thoughts, she'd tell him to go get a damn golden retriever. 

But Nat seems taken with Tony, because she barely shows anyone how she throws her knives. 

From his vantage point, Tony seems carefree and relaxed, and Bucky can't stop looking at the way the brunet smiles and laughs. It's intoxicating. Bucky considers dropping from his perch and scaring the shit out of Tony, just to see the cute brunet gasp and perhaps, _hopefully, _tumble to the ground. 

Nat says something, gives Tony one of her small smiles that are only reserved for people like Steve, Bucky and their whole team. Tony laughs, squeezes Nat's shoulder, and Bucky almost falls out of his fucking seat because Nat doesn't even _try _and break Tony's finger. It's unfair, Bucky thinks. Tony is worming his way into everyone's heart. He makes a mental note to plant some kind of skunk perfume on Tony so everyone knows to back off. But Steve would probably give him some righteous speech about _boundaries _and Bucky absolutely does not feel like a Steve-lecture mood right now.

Nat tosses Tony some boxing gloves, steps out onto a soft mat. Bucky tenses, but he watches with interest. To his knowledge, Tony's not practiced in combat anyway, but Nat's got a good idea, giving Tony some basic skills. She's going easy on him, leaving her face unguarded and body relaxed, posture open. Tony looks nervous, but slips on the gloves anyway.

Then he sees Tony's right hook, and it's a national disaster. He throws a right hook exactly the way someone who's never thrown a punch in their life would throw a right hook, and Bucky almost goes down there to show him. 

Nat rolls her eyes, teaches Tony, and they're in a friendly discussion where Tony undoubtedly says something charming and Nat chuckles, when the gym doors clang open, and in walk three very familiar men. 

Bucky stiffens, prepares to slide down to Nat's side. Nat turns, shoulders snap into a straight line, and Tony watches, inquisitive. 

It's _Erik, _the slimy bastard, and two of his loyal minions. 

Where the hell is Steve? Knowing Steve, Erik would never get off scottfree in just twenty minutes.

Bucky smiles to himself, hand going to the knife by his belt. Erik stops a few meters away from Nat, which is probably a sane decision, and cocks his head in that _special _way Bucky knows means he's about to piss someone off.

And he strides out of his super secret room, and makes his way down to the gym, already itching to knock Erik's teeth in because there's no way he's about to let Nat have all the fun by herself. She's already getting all the lucky breaks in life, Bucky will not give her the satisfaction of one more. 

He made a promise to Steve about fun, and he's damn well going to keep it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE COMMENT AND KUDOS, IT WILL MEAN THE WORLLLDDDDDD TO ME:)  
I'm so busy with IB sighhh and well got his chap written as fast as I could. Let me know whatever you guys think OKAY
> 
> and also, shit's about to go down soon, NO WORRIES GUYS (action comin)


	7. Chapter 7

Okay," Tony says, places his hands on his hips, assesses the guy who looks like he's been sucking on a lemon. "Who invited the tragedy rendition of Napoleon Bonaparte without the funny hat?"

"Tony," Nat says under her breath, but there's a small smile on her lips. "Leave it to me." She moves forward, lithe, but there's some tension in her shoulders that Tony notices.

She stops a couple meters away from the men. Tony doesn't follow, instead peers over her shoulder in order to unashamedly observe. The guy in the front is solid, angry-looking, the way you'd expect someone to look after they found out their mother got them baseball gloves instead of porn magazines for their thirteenth, malicious birthday. He looks remarkably like Steve, but shorter and significantly more squat and I'm-going-to-bash-your-face-in-er. Tony quietly assumes Blond Potato is Steve's brother. Tony tip toes, catches sight of two more men behind the hunky alpha, looking bored and distant.

"I presume that's the little stray Steve picked up." Blond Potato drawls lazily, watches Tony like prey. It makes Tony's skin crawl.

It reminds him of Tiberius.

"What are you doing here, Erik?" Nat says evenly, tips her head. "Steve's been looking for you."

"My brother may be in line for the 'throne'," Blond Potato--excuse him, Erik, says, and flashes his teeth in a horrible parody of a smile. "But he's not suited to actually doing the dirty work necessary." He shrugs. "I'm here because I'm curious."

Nat scoffs, shakes her head a little. "We've all heard that line before. Back off before you do something you regret."

"What," Erik frowns, hand to his heart. "I'm hurt. Is this how you treat family? I just wanted to say hello," he says and strides over to Tony, taking a wide berth around Nat. His bodyguards follow quickly, putting themselves between Blond Potato and Nat. Nat, who's obviously trying to suppress the pleased smile Tony has no doubt means she wants to punch him in the throat. Nat backsteps, stands right by Tony. It's sweet, and Tony doesn't need the support, but he's grateful for it anyway.

Erik comes to a stop in front of Tony. "Well you're definitely prettier than I imagined," he muses and his hand comes up, hovering a few inches away from Tony's cheek.

It's nauseating and Nat looks ready to come to his defense, hand already going to her knife but Tony touches her hand with his. He shakes his head, and Nat doesn't look happy about it but she retreats.

Tony raises an eyebrow. "I try not to be so direct with these things, but fuck you. I don't know who you are, but I'm not looking for trouble."

Erik chuckles. "Feisty, too." The edge of the blond's fingertip brush over his skin. "Steve always did like mouthy brunets."

Tony mentally gags, because that's a disgusting thing to say about your own brother. "Are you from Alabama?" He asks sweetly. Erik's brows knot together in brief confusion, but then a pair of familiar black combat boots thump to the floor and Tony smiles wide.

"Put your fucking hand down," Bucky says from behind them, voice calm, but all kinds of dark. "Or I'm going to tear it off and shove it in your throat."

"Already coming as the knight in shining armor, Bucky?" Erik tuts, but lowers his hand and slowly steps back. "I didn't know your hero complex was this severe."

"The only thing that's going to be severe is your amount of blood loss that's going to happen in thirty seconds if you don't clear out." Bucky tells Erik, and places a protective arm around Tony's shoulders to gently pull him back. Tony tries to hide his surprise, and he'll be mortified if he finds out later that he blushed, but Bucky's arm is a welcome, warm weight on his shoulders and Tony relaxes into the touch. Nat exchanges a glance with Bucky, eyes asking a question. 

"Buckaroo," Tony says happily and makes grabby hands at the master assassin. "I missed you."

Erik's dark blue eyes glimmer, mouth hooking into a thoughtful and majorly creepy smile. "Well. Tony, aren't you the charmer."

"I'll teach you for free. Call it charity for the needy." Tony tells him, and relishes in the surprise that crosses his face for a second. 

"How's tonight, my room?" Erik purrs. "I'll mind your head injury."

Tony opens his mouth to deliver a retort, when Bucky audibly snarls, metal arm whirring. "I'm not going to fucking warn you again, asshole."

Erik's bodyguards immediately react to the threat, one of them drawing his handgun. Tony swallows nervously, because after going most of his adult life without seeing a gun, the sight of the weapon being drawn still makes his heart jump a little. Nat tenses, but before she does anything Erik sighs and waves his hands. "Gentlemen," he declares, annoyed. "Calm down. We're here to talk, not to fight." Erik shoots a cold stare at both Bucky and Nat, and Tony narrows his eyes, irritated. This guy has a lot of nerve, he decides. He'll have to ask Steve later about what role Erik plays in the family.

"Talk, huh?" Bucky says with an indulgent look at Nat. 

"Erik's full of surprises." Nat agrees, starts unwrapping the cotton from her hands. Tony looks down, realizes he still has his boxing gloves on, and pulls them off quickly, embarrassed. Bucky chuckles softly next to him, tells him it's a good look, and Tony meets his soft gaze to smirk proudly. 

"You all know what I want." Erik says, cuts through any sort of gentle moment between them. "I want Steve out."

"That's not going to happen." Nat says, looking affronted. Tony wonders if Erik is on a suicide mission, provoking Nat _and _Bucky like that.

Bucky's metal arm drops to his side. "You're still on about that bullshit?" He rolls his eyes. "Give it up, fuckface. The decision was made _years _ago."

Erik's face twitches, like he's about ready to start swinging. "You hold a lot of sway over my brother," his eyes rest on Tony, a predatory glint in his eye. "We both know it's not what he wants."

"Don't pretend like you're being selfless for Steve," Bucky snaps, moves forward a step. The bodyguards crowd around Erik immediately, and Nat watches with a disquieting, displeased expression on her face. "You're a psychopath, and even Peggy sees it. She'll hand it down to anyone _but _you."

Erik's blue eyes flash, rage hardening the lines of his face. "I am _better _than Steve." Tony's eyes drop to the blond, and he can't help but be innately _horrified _at the prospect of Erik assuming leadership of a crime family. He knows enough to recognize that this is a long, bloody issue in the family that strangers really shouldn't be privy to know.

Not for the first time, Tony wonders if he made a mistake staying. 

Nat says, quietly, "No, you're not. And you're not going to make us turn on Steve." And it's loyalty, in her voice, in Bucky's solemn eyes that Tony sees that _they _really are Steve's family, with him to the end. It's heart-rending, and absolutely sweet, the bond between all of them. A small pang of jealousy nags in his chest, and Tony looks away, down to the floor.

A family is all he ever wanted. 

"No one will back you." Bucky adds, and presses closer to Tony, as if sensing distress. Bucky looks at him for a second, and asks quietly, "Are you okay?" and Tony nods, smiles, softens a little bit at Bucky's warmth. And for a moment, Tony's nothing but charmed by that, the sheer unmitigated sweetness of Bucky Barnes, but then he remembers this whole mess could easily blow up in his face and he winces, ignores the concern in Bucky's blue eyes.

"Steve's people are few, and far between." Erik replies smugly. "The perks of growing up in the crime underworld, Tony," he says, circling closer like a lion cornering its prey. "instead of having a doll to play with, you have a gun." He pauses, comes to a stop dangerously close to Tony, and Bucky's muscles shift, hiding Tony behind his bulk. "And you learn, quickly, that loyalty is _nothing. _Anyone can betray you, and anytime. The trick," he says, and Tony's blood runs cold. "Is to make sure you do it first." And he makes a gesture with his hands, that go _poof._

Tony's not staying silent. "Well excuse me if I don't take life lessons from an angsty David fucking Copperfield." 

Bucky laughs at that, and leans in to whisper in Tony's ear, "Careful there. You're cute when you're snarky." Tony shoots him an exasperated look, but chuckles anyway.

"Loyalty isn't nothing, Erik." Nat says, and she sounds bored. Like she's explaining how B comes after A in the alphabet to a two-year-old toddler. "It's how our family thrives. It's how we _survive. _If you can't recognize that, then you'll never be a leader."

"Don't waste your breath, Nat." Bucky says. "The guy must be deaf if he doesn't get it yet."

"_Your _family?" Erik scoffs, taps the side of his face with a finger. "Don't kid yourself, Romanov. You're nothing but a goddamn licensed contractor, and you'll turn on us the second you have the chance and someone pays better. You, and every other shithead we _employ, _will never be one of us. Another thing you learn, Tony," Erik swivels to smile amicably at him. The candor of his psychopathic openness knows no bounds, Tony thinks. "Money buys. People will do anything for a drop of that golden blood."

Nat's nose crinkles, like Erik's personally offended her. "This is over," she says, an edge to her voice. "If you're not leaving, we will." She takes Tony by the hand, starts walking towards the door, and Tony follows hurriedly. 

"It was a delight to meet you, Tony!" Erik calls after them, and when Tony looks back, the man is wearing a smile and waving. "I'll be seeing you real soon."

"Come near him," Bucky stops on their way out and turns. "and you're a dead man." He doesn't wait for an answer before nudging Tony out the door, flesh hand resting securely on the small of Tony's back.

Something warm and happy pools in his stomach at that, and Tony struggles not to _like _the feeling. 

"That was Steve's brother?" Tony asks, almost incredulously. He has a whole new respect for Steve now, and whoever raised him. 

Nat hums in agreement. "Erik's...been through some things. But he's a brat, for sure." She keeps her tone level, but doesn't say anything more.

"It's fine," Bucky says and waves his hand flippantly. "Forget about him. He's not our problem."

It doesn't take Tony more than a few seconds to argue that Erik indeed _is _their problem, but he doesn't want to push. So they leave Erik behind, and immediately the tension dissipates. While the encounter wasn't completely forgotten, Nat and Bucky try their best to retain the normalcy. 

Nat tells him about some of their team while they walk through hallways, and not for the first time, Tony marvels at the size of the compound. Bucky notices, and steers the conversation away from the team and instead tells him about the compound itself, and how it's the main building where the operations of the crime family are organized, planned, and where the highest-ranking members reside. 

After a while, they take him to a spacious room, and Tony suspects it's a coffee lounge. So he makes himself a cup of black, and sips it religiously. Bucky's already sprawled on a lush leather couch, changed into a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. He looks incredibly comfortable and cozy, and Tony tries not to think about how cuddle-able Bucky looks. 

Nat hovers in the doorway, an amused smile on her face. "Tony," she says and takes one of his hands. He chuckles when he hears Bucky's indignant squawk behind them, and Nat ignores it with practiced ease. "I was called to train some new recruits. You'll be safe here with Bucky."

Tony frowns, makes a protesting noise. "Don't go. You're a badass spy master and you're so pretty you make me swoon. And you're equipped to deal with Bucky, don't leave me defenseless with him." 

"I'll leave him with strict instructions to leave you in one piece," Nat says with a soft huff and her eyes crinkle in a smile. "I'll see you tonight for dinner, and don't worry about your friend Clint and Sam. They're having fun, and Sam will probably bring him in here before dinner."

"Fine," Tony says, a little more dramatically than he planned. "Thank you, for today." He adds, sincerely, and gives Nat his best grin. 

"Of course." Nat says with a fond look, lets his hands drop, and moves out the door. 

"What, no farewell for your favorite assassin?" Bucky yells, throws a pillow at her retreating form. Lightning fast, Nat catches it single-handedly, without looking. She smirks, chucks it back, and disappears out into the hallway. Bucky groans, falling back into the plethora of fluffy pillows still on the couch. Tony laughs in surprise, impressed and utterly in awe of the normalcy of the situation. 

What would his parents say if they knew their son was getting friendly with the mafia?

"Doll," Bucky whines, and pats the seat next to him and blinks adoringly. "C'mere."

Tony rolls his eyes, and says, "I'm tired."

Fuck. He really _is. _

"Then come be tired with me." Bucky replies, with more feeling. And what the hell, things could be worse than snuggling up to one of the most dangerous men in Manhattan, decked out in casual attire and sporting handsome smiles. All the days' events kind of hit him in one blow, nearly buckle his knees, and Tony finds it in himself that there's not much resistance left. So he pads to Bucky, legs aching, and flops onto the seat next to the muscular brunet. 

"Mhm," Tony mumbles and curls up, head in the crook of Bucky's shoulder. Personal space has never been a concept Tony's given two shits about when it comes to people he likes. The soft fabric of Bucky's sweater mush against his cheek and Tony sighs, melting in the comfort and feeling of another person around him. Bucky smells like alpine woods, and the crisp smell of fresh cookies in the oven. Bucky shifts, and Tony burrows in closer, feeling lighter and peers up at the assassin. 

Bucky looks back at him, eyes soft and curls a hand around Tony's waist. It's not as strange as he thought it would be, cuddling up to a complete stranger. But Bucky doesn't feel much of a stranger anymore. He yawns, and suddenly finds himself exhausted, body pleading to sleep.

"How's your head, doll?" Bucky murmurs, careful to give the wound some space and places a pillow under Tony's chin.

"S'alright," Tony slurs, eyes drooping. God, what he'd give to sleep right now. "Won't Steve be mad?" he says into Bucky's shoulder, registering the soothing movements of Bucky petting his hair gently. Steve, who's obviously Bucky's boyfriend or partner and best friend, and under normal circumstances Tony would back the hell off but Bucky's so _warm. _

He faintly hears Bucky's snort. "Oh, trust me, sweetheart. You're completely fine."

"Wha's 'at supposed t'mean," Tony grumbles and rolls onto his back, squints at Bucky. "I'm not being mushed into a Stark ham special 'cause your blond polite hunk of a boyfriend gets pissed."

"Will you just go to sleep?" Bucky says, and rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "I can drug you." He offers playfully when Tony makes a face. 

"I really should be alarmed by the amount of threats you make per day," Tony says, closing his eyes. Fuck it. If Bucky's going to murder him in his sleep, so be it. He whole-heartedly deserves that shit by letting himself be vulnerable in such a compromising position. "But I'm going to pass out now."

Bucky laughs again, and says something Tony doesn't hear, because he's already drifting off to sleep.

"Is that Tony?" Steve says, a smile in his voice.

Bucky shifts a little, and it nudges him slowly awake. "Yeah. He's adorable like this." Then pauses, and whispers. "Don't ever let him know I said that."

Steve laughs, and Tony lets out a soft groan, scrunching his eyes. "He is. And he'd hold it over your head forever."

Tony wakes a little more, opens his eyes to the sound of the leather couch dipping with the addition of a new weight. He cracks open an eyelid, and it's Steve, lowering his full weight slowly onto the couch. Bucky's head is turned, and opens his free arm to the blond. 

Tony prepares to sit up, when Steve says, "Is he asleep?"

"Yeah," Bucky says, checks Tony's face with a gentle touch and glances knowingly at the blond. "What's wrong?"

Tony decides to stay still, closes his eyes for extra measures and relaxes into Bucky's comforting hold. "I've just gotten reports of two unidentified, blank plated cars sitting outside Tony's and Clint's apartments." Steve says quietly, voice grave. Tony tries not to stiffen, listens harder. "They were tracked an hour ago."

Bucky makes a displeased noise, tightens his hold on Tony's side. "Son of a bitch. Already? How would anyone know?"

"I've been trying to figure that one out, too." Steve tells Bucky. It's clearly serious enough to have them both worried, and Tony holds his breath, calculates the odds.

Even if someone had escaped from the soldiers who had attacked them in the morning from Bucky, all they would have had to go on would be glimpses of Tony and Clint's faces. Even then, it's highly unlikely they would have been outed this fast. 

"McCullough might have found out through his men." Bucky ventures, carding his fingers through Tony's hair. "I didn't kill them, just knocked them out or injured them. Some of them may have fatal wounds," Bucky says as an afterthought.

Steve lets out a breath, clasps his hands together. "No, it's good you didn't kill all of them. We don't need a war. Honestly, I don't know how they found out it was _you, _because you always wear that mask when on the field." He taps his fingers on the table, and Tony silently agrees when Steve mutters, "Something doesn't add up here."

"But McCullough doesn't have eyes in our territory, and even if he did, because I don't trust that fucker, there's no way he could identify Tony and Clint this fast and put people on them." Bucky says, and a quick peek tells him the brunet is frowning. "The only way he could've known this fast is..." 

"Someone in our circle leaked the information." Steve sighs, sits back. He doesn't sound surprised. 

"Fuck," Bucky breathes. "A traitor?"

Now he doesn't know much about the mafia or crime families, most of his surface knowledge is definitely from the Sopranos or from TV shows. But Tony knows with absolute certainty, that having a traitor in the equation-- never ends well for anybody.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ACTION IS COMING, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!!  
Also, more stuckony development- AND clint and tony broship next chapter too, for those of you who like it. PLEASE LEAVE COMMENTS AND KUDOS, I fucking love them, and thank you all for reading!!!  
Let me know what y'all think.  
NEXT CHAP IS SOON.


	8. Chapter 8

"Steve, wake up!" 

Hands grab him by the shoulders, and acting on instinct, he strikes out hard and fast, hits flesh and someone grunts and the grip loosens. He slips to his feet, throwing the blanket from the bed and rolling to his feet, fists already up.

"Steve," Bucky groans, and Steve blinks in the dark, squinting to see his boyfriend. Bucky is crouching a few feet away, a hand pressed to his jaw. "Calm the fuck down."

Steve winces, drops his hands and crosses over to his boyfriend, and gently takes his face in his hands. "Sorry," he mutters and tilts Bucky's jaw to see the forming bruise. "You know I get startled." Trying to convey as much regret as he can, he presses a soft kiss to Bucky's cheek. 

"Listen here, you spooky little shit." Bucky says, noses Steve's face back. "I was working all night, and--"

"You didn't come to bed," Steve agrees, voice tilting on a whine. After the day they'd had, all he wanted was just to curl around Bucky in bed and fall asleep to the scent of alpine woods and sharp mint, wrapping in comforting duvets. "I missed you, sweetheart."

"No, listen." Bucky says, with more force and feeling in his voice. Steve stills, looks into Bucky's dark blue eyes. "I cashed in a few favors and I know who the buyers were. Or, at least one of them."

Steve pulls back, blinks. "What? Who is it?" Bucky looks tired, bags under his eyes. Steve extends a hand, settling his palm on Bucky's shoulder and tries to push all his calming energy into the touch. If Bucky, who values his sleep more than Steve values his morning runs, the information must be damn important. 

"The men I saw, buying the gear at the warehouse. That's where I thought I should start," Bucky says, sitting heavily on the crumpled bed. "I couldn't get any face ID, so I started thinking... what if those men weren't actually the _owners? _I thought, what would run-of-the-mill soldiers be doing wearing such high-tech tactical gear?"

Steve frowns, thinks along. It's a valid question. "They were loaned the gear? Or stole it. But why go through that trouble for a couple of weapons?"

"Right," Bucky says and a smile curls on his lips. "I think they were _borrowed. _And in our world, who are the people we go to when we want others to do our dirty jobs?"

"Mercenaries." Steve says slowly, glances up at Bucky, eyes wide. "How could we not see this?"

"Because I'm a fucking genius, babe." Bucky purrs, leans over to kiss him softly. Steve sighs into the kiss, hand trailing down Bucky's muscled, solid back. "But it's not over," Bucky says and his eyes are bright, but Steve groans. Bucky rolls his eyes. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but focus, Steve."

"Buck," Steve grumbles. "Such a tease. Now that you've figured it out, can we just go to bed for a remaining three hours?" He asks with a mournful stare at the alarm clock. 

"If," Bucky says, ignoring him and grabbing his hands. 'If those men were mercenaries, then they'd have to belong to a pretty good one to get that kind of tech loaned. You know, with histories and confirmed kills and everything. So, I cross-referenced with the mercenaries we've employed over the years..."

"Did you find them?" Steve asks, narrowing his eyes.

The mercenaries they employ are efficient, good at what they do. Peggy's always told Steve, if he wants something done fast and dirty, they're the people you go to. But Steve's been trying to steer the family away from that. He thinks of Erik for a second, how _hard _it is to make any goddamn change when your own brother is actively fighting back. 

"No, there's no way of knowing exactly which. I contacted Carlston. He's agreed to meet me tomorrow for lunch, tell me what's the word on ." Bucky says, grinning. 

"Really," Steve says and raises his eyebrows. "Carlston replied at two in the morning?"

"He's either fucking someone," Bucky shrugs and smirks. "Or killing someone. You know Carlston."

"Most likely he's just cleaning up after his four-year-old daughter's coloring books." Steve rolls his eyes, and climbs back into bed, stuffs his feet into the duvets. "Come on. Let's go to sleep. I'll let Peggy know in the morning, and you have a meeting in six hours," Steve says and swallows back a sigh of sadness at the time ticking away on the clock. "The clock is taunting me." Steve mutters, shoving his head into his pillow.

Bucky laughs, and the bed dips when he clambers beside Steve. "Sorry, babe. Want me to give you an apology blowjob?" He teases, nuzzling into the back of Steve's neck and Steve leans into the warm touch, and breathes out a little quick at Bucky's hand sliding down.

"Buck," Steve chuckles, takes the pillow and softly whups Bucky with it. "The only boner I have right now is for REM sleep." He takes the blanket, and brings it up to his chin.

"Stevie," Bucky snorts. "That's very indecent of you to say, you American poster boy for decency."

"Mhm," Steve hums non commitedly as Bucky burrows under the blankets. 

They lie in bed together, breathing in each other's scents. Steve closes his eyes, then blinks up at the ceiling. Bucky 's weight is familiar and warm at his back, breathing softly through his nose. It's crazy, Steve thinks. The day they've had. Yesterday, he went to sleep like this, and woke up this morning like it was every other day.

He had a plan, meetings with the family, maybe talk Peggy into taking a relaxing spa day, push forward legitimate business deals and attend a few meetings overseeing the whole Carter operation. Perhaps find a way to keep Erik occupied and out of his deals. 

And then Bucky went on a recon mission, and everything changed. 

Steve turns to his side, nudges Bucky gently in the back. "Hey," he says softly. "What are we doing?"

Bucky snuffles, shifts to crack open an eye to glare at him. "What do you mean, what are we doing? We're doing sleep. I thought we were doing sleep." 

"No," Steve murmurs, and stares into an empty spot on the wall. "I mean with Tony. Tony and Clint. What are we doing?"

"Where did _that _come from?" Bucky asks, turns on his side to face Steve, eyes glinting in curiosity. "We're not doing them. Clint, I'm glad. But Tony," he says and lets out a low whistle. "Not doing _him _makes me sad."

"I'm sure he's sad too." Steve says dryly, and goes silent. He hasn't truly thought about it, how absolutely preposterous the whole thing is. Turns out, his brain doesn't want to think about it either. His brain is stating a disclaimer that it's not responsible for most of Steve's idiotic decisions, and Steve relates to that on a spiritual level. 

"Stop thinking," Bucky advises around a yawn. "Fucks your shit up. It's scientifically proven." 

"Oh yeah?" Steve gives a soft laugh at that, blinks slowly at his drowsy boyfriend. "Those sketchy medical trials your friends do aren't scientific, Buck."

"No," Bucky says and sniffs haughtily. Well, as haughtily as he can manage with bags under his eyes and tangled hair with a blanket snuggled up to his nose, leaving only his dark blue eyes blinking incomprehensibly at him. "No, what I'm saying, _Steve," _Bucky emphasizes dramatically. "Is that our line of work isn't really suited to thinking. Once you think about it, it all sorts of unravels. Our whole operation. It's a shitshow." He tells Steve, says it like he's telling Steve nutella doesn't go well with mustard.

"You're a proven intellectual marvel." Steve tells him, and discovers that when he gets real close to Bucky, he kind of smells like unwashed sweat. Bucky nods, eyes already closed.

But hey, love is love. So he wraps his arms around the brunet and pulls him close, and tries to close his eyes to get two or three hours worth of shut-eye.

He gets about five minutes of silence before Bucky grumbles, and squints at him in the dark with the kind of offense people get when they've just gotten a thinly veiled insult. "You're a fucking furnace, Stevie, I love you but _unfold _from my physical body." 

"You broke your record of four minutes," Steve says and laughs. "I love you too."

And that's how the remaining early morning goes, with Bucky plastered to the wall because it's cool, and Steve ending half on his side and half splayed on his boyfriend and completely suffocating Bucky in heat.

Tony ends up staring at him, blurry and half-awake. "What the fuck," he says, doesn't even look conscious enough to look mad about it.

"I have so much planned for you," Steve says and leans against the doorway. "Bucky told me you're a mechanic, a talented one. You're from MIT so you must be that good. And we have a few labs downstairs for some research development..." He trails off, looks at Tony for an answer and smiles, bright and happy. "Come on."

There's a silence that stretches on unnecessarily long, and Tony regards Steve with a special blend of confused and mad but not knowing why. "What?" Tony finally says, and squints hard at Steve like he's a bug splashed on his windshield.

It's getting increasingly hard to not find Tony's rumpled spare pajamas and a bed-hair intoxicatingly cute. Steve crosses his arms across his chest, stares at the smaller brunet fondly. 

"The fuck is this horseshit," Clint yells, muffled from his face in the pillow. "Tones, tell your blond jacked up boyfriend to get the fuck out or I'm gonna start throwing lamps because that's the only weapon in here they left us with."

"He's not my boyfriend," Tony blusters, immediately whipping his head so fast Steve winces and immediately feels bad about admiring how Tony's eyes get wide and big, shakes his head quickly. "He's not, he's not even," and then increasingly panicky, "What are you—"

"I'm not," Steve adds and steps inside the still dark room. "And I'll calmly ask you not to throw that lamp, thank you very much, it was a limited edition from IKEA—"

Clint swears, takes his spare pillow and throws it at the general direction of nowhere. "Fuck IKEA, I'm going to shove it up Sweden's ass and once I'm done it's going up yours, so get out! I need to sleep. Tones, I am withholding caffeine from you if you do not get blond barbie out of this room right the fuck now." 

Steve closes his eyes, breathes out and tries not to smile. Bucky would have loved to be here. Bucky would have had a field day. 

"Clint, you little shit," Tony hisses and turns bodily to face the general direction of a Clint-shaped lump under the covers. "That's actually not up to you because you're not a goddamn barista anymore, you evil birdbrain—"

Clint's head pops up, and Steve braces himself for the rage. Instead, Clint glares at Tony, and then at him with bloodshot eyes, brown hair sticking up all over the place. He narrows his eyes, and tells Tony in a level voice, "I'm going to call MIT, and I'm going to report a fucking out-of-school harassment and a restraining order—"

"Your word against mine, shitface, I'll see you in court—"

"Up we go." Steve says and strides inside, to the foot of Tony's bed just in time to stop Tony's sleep-muddled failed scramble off the bed to lunge at Clint. He wraps his arms under Tony's arms, and bodily heaves him out of the bed and out the door. Clint shouts something after them, and Tony shouts right back, and Steve's starting to regret his decision in ever opening the dreaded 7th gateway to hell that is Tony and Clint's room. 

He closes the door shut behind him, and they stand in the empty hallway and plops Tony back on his feet.

Tony, who's lighter than a feather and is staring up at him with huge, long-lashed eyes and a pouty scowl on his face. Steve _really _wishes Bucky was here. Bucky wouldn't have been able to contain himself from gushing at the smaller brunet.

Then, on second thought, it's a good thing Bucky's not here.

Tony places his hands on his hips, glowers at Steve. It's like a fluffy kitten flashing tiny claws, and Steve tries not to melt. _Be strong, _he tells himself. "What the hell was that?" Tony asks, and eyes him suspiciously.

"I'm sorry," Steve says honestly. "But its almost eight, and I knocked a few times...and then there was this guttural noise and I was worried something was wrong and no one was answering so I forced the door in. I should've waited till you were awake to start telling you the plans for you today," Steve says as an afterthought and shakes his head regretfully. "Sorry."

Tony's silent for a moment, and then glances up at Steve and sighs. "I can't even be mad at you for waking us up. Not when you're so polite about it. Sorry for Clint's yelling, and mine, and that guttural sound is Clint's moan, which completely sounds like a goddamn donkey so it's understandable, but that only happens when he wakes up before ten AM."

"How does he keep his job, then?" Steve asks with a long, impressed glance at the closed door. 

"I ask myself that everyday. I think he does too." Tony tells him with a long-suffering eye roll.

Steve shrugs, and purely on impulse, leans over to pat down the adorable cowlick tufting out from Tony's rumpled bed hair. Tony blinks up at him, surprised and a hint of a blush on his cheeks. Steve gulps, and moves his hand away. "It's a pretty big cowlick." He says helplessly, because there's nothing else to say without sounding like an absolute idiot.

Bucky would have died laughing.

Tony smiles, soft and sweet, and Steve feels something hook in his belly and tug. He drops his hands to his side, because he's not used to feeling nervous, and then says, "Well, do you want to hear about the plan for your day?"

"Yes, yes, of course," Tony says and laughs a little. "You said something about labs? Mechanic, right?"

Steve shrugs and nods, delighted when Tony's smile becomes bigger. "Yeah, we have a few. Mostly weapons testing and stuff, but definitely room for mechanic. A very talented engineer who operates the lab downstairs would be happy to have you work with him for the time being," Steve says and chuckles at the size of Tony's joyful expression. "His name's Happy."

"I would love to," Tony says and grins. "But is it allowed? I mean I'm just here for like three days... I don't want to bother your engineer or anything. I'm happy to just stay out of the way. Give me some Jenga. Yeah, I'll go nuts. I'll do things with Jenga you've never seen before. I can get Clint in on it too. Give Clint a Rubik's cube, it'll take him years."

Steve feels almost obligated to stop Tony's rambling, and so he decides to make a placating gesture with his hands, a move that Bucky always scoffs at. "Jenga? Tony, what are you on about?" And because he can't help it, he smiles back at Tony. "I'm not giving you Jenga. You'd be bored in five seconds."

Tony looks briefly surprised, and then laughs. It's a sweet sound, makes Steve's hands go all lax and his chest all warm and soft. Tony's face lights up when he smiles. "I've known you for like a day, and you already know me better than my parents," he teases.

He shrugs, and gazes at Tony for a moment, marveling how well Tony can pull off messy hair and pajamas. "It doesn't take a genius to see how smart you are."

"Aw, shit." Tony says, and shakes his head, tousling his dark brown hair even more and grins up at Steve. "Careful there Captain Underpants, you're gonna make me swoon."

"You make it sound like a threat," Steve says and pauses, shoves his hands into his pockets. "You need to make better threats." 

He really hopes Tony doesn't find this conversation mortifying.

He clears his throat. "I can, uh," He nods over his shoulder. "Go. I can go. Wait for you to get ready."

Tony doesn't seem to notice how sweaty his palms are getting. "Yeah, you could go." he says, with a smile and a shrug. "Or you could stay."

Steve chokes a little, because he can't believe Tony hasn't run away yet. "Stay? Stay. I could wait. I'll wait right here and take you and Clint to breakfast." 

"Stay," Tony says again and nods matter-of-factly. "I am painfully aware how civilian-esque Clint and I are, and we are two potentially insane emotionally immature adults in an illegal crime family base, so yes. I'd like you to stay."

_Oh. Of course Tony wants you to stay. He needs you._

It's a little pinprick to his heart, that Tony doesn't _want _him to stay. 

"Sure," he says, and is horrified it comes out a little squeaky so he tries again. "Sure. I'll be here."

"Thanks." Tony says, shoots him a sweet smile. "We'll be right out." Then he takes a step towards the door, and pauses. "So about Jenga?"

"No Jenga."

"Fuck. I'm being a good person and not being selfish. I'm happy to stay out of the way."

Steve raises his eyebrows. "I appreciate it. I do. But you don't seem like the type of person to like 'staying out of the way'," Steve echoes, and waves a hand when Tony tries to interject. "I already talked to Happy, and he'd appreciate a little help. I've already talked to Nat about Clint, so don't worry about him. And Tony," he says a little lower. "I haven't said anything to you and Clint, because I don't want to worry anyone but it might be dangerous for you anywhere but here right now."

It's a risky move, he thinks.

Telling Tony that McCullough's men have been running surveillance on his and Clint's home might be terrifying, the prospect of your home, a safe haven, has been compromised and invaded. It might make the fact that they're civilians seem even more daunting. And he doesn't want Tony, or Clint, to be scared for their lives.

It's not fair, Steve tells himself. 

Tony tilts his head, eyebrows furrowed. "Oh, dangerous? What do you mean by that?" He asks, tentatively, and shuffles his feet a little, eyes dropping for a brief second. "Do Clint and I have to stay here longer?"

It's cute, Steve thinks, amused. He learned how to lie at the age of four, and how to detect it after the age of six. As a Carter, it's really not a shock. So he finds it adorable, how Tony actually tries to bluster his way through and act innocent about it. "But you know that already, don't you." Steve says with a small smile.

He expects Tony to start blundering, to try and reassure Steve in a slightly panicked tone that he _doesn't _know what Steve's talking about, but _no._

He should really stop being surprised about it, when Tony does the exact opposite.

"Alright," Tony says, sounding cautious. "You got me. I heard when I was taking a nap with your murder muffin. The bad guys totally know who Clint and I are, which shouldn't be possible this fast, but since they know, we can't go home."

Steve lets that settle for a few seconds. Tony's more observant than both he and Bucky thought, and whether or not it can become a problem, he'll have to keep an eye on this. 

"You're right. But we can talk more about this during breakfast, because the hallway is completely expository and you're in your pajamas."

Tony looks down at himself, eyes widen a little like he's just realized it, and then looks back up at Steve. "Absolutely, Steven. Of course. I will return in ten minutes."

"No one calls me Steven except Peggy when she's mad."

"Tough fucking luck, snookums. But fine. When I'm done with your name, you'll be _wishing _for Steven."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am so, so sorry for how late this is.  
IB, guys.  
Fucking IB.  
Leave a comment please, and a kudos, they're the food that keeps this story (somewhat) alive!!! Love you guys. Thank you.


	9. Chapter 9

Bucky doesn't expect the huge six-foot-four guy to crumple to the floor. A guy his size should be able to withstand a good, solid right hook. 

_But then again_, Bucky thinks as he retracts his metal fist and shakes it, the gears whirring back. _Maybe not a solid right hook out of metal. _

The plan is simple: drive to Carlston's personal cafe and work shit out until he leaves with a definite answer of the whole situation, and then head back to the base to hopefully make out with Steve and annoy Tony to the point of no return. 

When Bucky's plans fail, it's usually because of some circumstantial bullshit that is no way under his control or because someone let him leave the base without double-checking his plans. But this time, it's because of the simple, bland _idiocy _of some people.

He really tries not to get mad when two more guys come at him from behind, but Bucky figures if they have enough sense to come from behind, they're at least better than the six-foot-four redneck squirming on the floor. The soldiers coming at him aren't stupid or careless or poorly-trained, but Bucky's better, and his guns are better. It becomes a matter of knocking all the stragglers out and not getting himself shot anywhere inconvenient in the process. 

"I'm telling you," Bucky says, kindly, as he takes the but of his gun and slams it into one soldier's neck, letting the body slide to the floor. "Carlston knows I'm coming. Just call him."

He rolls his eyes when another one yells out something in garbled Slovenian and charges, whipping out a gun and aiming. 

Bucky takes two steps forward, ducks, swipes his leg under the soldier, barrels up and forward and into the soldier, driving them both back a full meter. The soldier hisses, Bucky sighs, and then in two quick moves has the soldier in a chokehold and Bucky's letting down another body. Plenty of time to react when another goon tries to take him by surprise, and Bucky whirls around and delivers a vicious uppercut, a couple pulled punches to the guy's ribs and then kick him to the curb. The two soldiers are groaning, blood on their faces, and Bucky stands above them, smiling grimly. 

"Gentlemen!"

Bucky turns. Carlston, the bastard, is standing behind him, and he's holding a gun with a displeased frown on his face. 

"What," Bucky says. "the _fuck. _Carlston. Nice of you to show up fifteen minutes late."

"Those were my five personal guards, Mr. Barnes." Carlston says, aggrieved. "This is not what I had in mind when you called me asking for a _peaceful _meeting. Now I need a new team, and you almost got yourself shot."

"Not what I had in mind, either," Bucky tells him, makes his way over to the smug son of a bitch and kicks one groaning soldier in the guts for good measure. "Next time tell your guard dogs to back down. And I _would _get a new team, for the exact reason I _didn't _get shot."

Carlston cocks an eyebrow, and brings the gun up and points it at Bucky, clicking the safety off. "I could finish the job right now."

"I wouldn't do that." Bucky says, flashes a little teeth. "We both know I'm your favorite representative of the Carters."

He's a nice guy, ask anybody, but business is business and right now all he is, is a notorious assassin mafia second-in-command with a fancy metal arm. 

"That's because the standard is low," Carlston sniffs but tucks the gun into his waistband anyway. He didn't click the safety off, and Bucky stores that little tidbit into his mind just in case. "Most of the Carters are either insane, or close to it."

"Real cute," Bucky gives a little shrug. "I'm offended you think I'm sane."

"How is Peggy Carter?" Carlston asks, gestures to an empty seat in the 90s themed cafe. "She hasn't been by in a while."

Bucky takes the offer, slides into the seat and thinks for a moment. "She's peachy. Been giving off more work to Steve." Carlston's a sneaky shit, so Bucky should probably think about the things he says during this meeting. If one questionable thing gets back to Peggy, he knows it's absolutely not above her to take away to new set of tactical knives they've introduced into the armory. 

And it'd be a damn shame if that happened. 

"Ah, Steve Rogers." Carlston settles on the opposite seat, seems to mull it over for a moment. "He's the blond, decent one? I've heard he's been trying to turn the family upside down." He holds up a hand, making some sort of gesture, and Bucky glances around to see the barista, cowering behind the counter, looking petrified. "Two Scotches. On the rocks, please."

The barista immediately scrambles to the liquor cabinet, hands shaking, and Bucky almost feels bad for him, so he calls, "Thank you." but only succeeds in making the poor kid tremble even more. 

"So, Mr. Barnes." Carlston says, examines Bucky carefully. "What can I do for you?"

"You're a smart man, Carlston," Bucky muses and leans back on the seat. "You must be up to date to what's been going on."

Carlston gives him a little bit of a flat look, reassessing him. "As vague as usual, Mr. Barnes. Carters keeping you on a tight leash?" Says it in a pitying voice, like he's some kind of charity case with no mind of his own and Bucky could take the butter knife lying on the napkin and bury the damn thing in Carlston's throat, or his wrist, and be done with this whole mess, but he thinks that would definitely be one hell of a waste for the whole trip over here.

"Tight enough that I don't increase the fatality rates from last year." Bucky says, smiles wide and dark enough Carlston gets the message to stop fucking around. 

The Winter Soldier's fatality rates are well-known in the underworld, and Bucky's never been one to discourage vicious rumors about the efficiency of his work. 

"I take it you want to know about the mercenaries who were sent to pick up a load, am I right?" Carlston asks, looks at him with a blank expression. "They tailed you, almost killed you, and you left with two brand-new playthings right off the street."

"Yeah," Bucky says, with a sharp nod. "Exactly. I went to the drop for recon, saw a couple of new guys I've never seen. Red eagle insignia. High-tech gear."

"Red eagles?" Carlston repeats, and it's only then that Bucky reads something off Carlston's face, can tell he _knows. _"Rogues. I took them in, gave them a chance, but they thought they could do better." Carlston grits his jaw, mouth a little tighter. "So they left. Decided to make their own group, and now they're backed by Zola."

"You're shitting me," Bucky says, falls back and tries to hide his surprise. "Zola?"

"Zola," Carlston shakes his head. The barista scurries over, places the glasses on the table and at Carlston's nod, hauls ass out the door. Bucky watches him go, and still feels a little bad. "Goddamned asshole. But I've been hearing things, and they tell me the rogues have been getting plump on Zola's feeder."

"What's his play in this?" Bucky asks, levels a stare at Carlston. "Zola's always been a piece of shit, but a weapons transaction in Carter territory? No way he'd be that confident to take us on."

"Maybe he knows something you don't," Carlston counters and takes a thoughtful gulp of his scotch. "Zola may be an asshole, but he's a smart one. I'd be careful."

"I need solid intel," Bucky says and leans forward, expectantly. Some part of Bucky is reeling, at the knowledge Zola has resurfaced after a year of being underground, and that he's making a move just when Steve is about to assume power. "I need names."

Carlston blinks, looks past Bucky's shoulder briefly. "Of course you do," he says and laughs about it a little and takes a piece of paper out from his suit, slides it across the table and tilts his head. 

Bucky raises an eyebrow, takes the paper and flips it over. 

_Niki Rosten _is scrawled in messy handwriting on the paper. 

"Who's this?" Bucky says, takes his untouched drink and downs it in one swig. 

"She's in charge of the rogues. Find her, you find them. You find why they were there, and what Zola paid them to do," Carlston pauses and when he smiles, the hairs on Bucky's neck stand up. "But one thing you should know."

"What's that?" Bucky says. He's curious, about this Niki person. Who's important and dangerous enough for even Carlston to know about. 

"She's McCullough's daughter." 

Bucky's mouth screws up into something ugly. He shakes his head, thinks a little about what exactly that means, and shakes his head again. _This just got a whole lot fucking harder, _says the little rational voice in the back of his head. Peggy is going to hate this, and Steve is going to hate this even more. "Fuck."

"Fuck," Carlston agrees with a wry smile. "Indeed. I wish you best of luck."

"Thanks," Bucky says and slides out the booth, takes the piece of paper and stuffs it into his jacket and pats down his jeans, tucking the hilt of his favorite gun into his waistband. "I appreciate this."

"Did you really take in two civilians?" Carlston suddenly asks, with the kind of tone that's designed to piss people off.

Bucky decides to flip him off. "Shut your fucking mouth." Bucky says, and starts walking to the door. 

"Tell them to swing by if they're pretty!" Carlston yells at his retreating back, and Bucky shakes his head, laughs.

"Over my dead fucking body, Carlston, and you have a daughter."

"I could get a babysitter." Carlston replies, and Bucky turns to see him shrug innocently. 

"You're a goddamn menace." Bucky says, and walks out the door.

From one mess to another, it looks like this day is just fucking messy.

Bucky strolls right into the gym, because that's where the first newbie recruit squeaked out where Steve was after Bucky waved a knife in front of his face.

Steve and Natasha are in the middle of the empty room, on padded mats, with Clint and a strangely grime-covered Tony standing a few meters away.

When Bucky steps inside, Tony whirls around with grime in his tufty, curly hair and a smile that makes his heart skip a little beat. "Murder muffin! Buckaroo! You're finally back." 

Steve and Natasha turn as one, and Bucky raises an eyebrow at the group. "Fighting without me? I'm betrayed." He says and chuckles at Tony's feigned gasp, and Steve's laugh and Nat's eyeroll. Clint just sort of squints at him, and Bucky squints right back.

Steve breaks off, walks right over in long strides and presses a quick kiss to his lips. "Hey, sweetheart," Steve says lowly, blue eyes glowing and earnest. Bucky's always been in danger of getting lost in those blue eyes. "How was the trip?"

Bucky kisses back briefly, and leans in to whisper in Steve's ear, "Good. I've got a name."

"Great," Steve smiles and runs a hand through his tousled blond hair. "That's great, Buck. We'll go through it later. Come on, join us." And because Bucky can't ever resist it when his boyfriend asks him anything, he follows Steve back to the group.

"Bucky," Nat says in greetings and nods. "Good to see you. Got what you needed?"

"Nat," Bucky smiles. "I always do. Finished with the recruits already? Seven came in and four went straight home?"

Nat rolls her eyes, crosses her arms over her chest. "Five went home. Not even with any broken bones," she adds with an incredulous little toss of her red hair. "Just some bruises.

Steve gives a low whistle, shakes his head. "Must've been one hell of a bruise."

"Must've been one hell of an internal injury." Clint mutters under his breath.

Nat shrugs, steps forward and snaps her fingers in front of Tony. "In my day," she tells him. "We used to _work _to get where we are. We didn't quit. Not even when it got tough, not when we broke a few bones, we still got up."

"This pep-talk isn't making me feel better," Tony says with a little bit of whine in his voice as he reluctantly takes up stance. "Please let me go back to Happy, the man's a fucking wizard. I'm helping him with this energy circuit that's supposed to power a really cool blue-energized weapon, and—"

Nat throws a punch, a really soft one, at Tony's face and Bucky almost tries and stops it because Tony's still talking like the idiot he is but is completely shocked when the brunet sidesteps, ducks and puts his fists up to his face and throws a right hook which is infinitely better than the first one Bucky's seen him throw. 

Nat blocks the hook, responds with a low jab to Tony's underbelly and Bucky watches earnestly as Tony jumps right back, curls falling into his face and eyes bright with focus. Goddamn, if Tony looks this focused when he's fighting, Bucky could think of a hell lot more to occupy Tony with to get that look in his eye. 

Clint makes an approving noise, and says, "Go for her throat or her knees, Tony!" then a second's pause, and says, "Maybe just her knees." 

Tony gives a short laugh, dodges another flurry of blows from Nat and gets at least two of his own in. Bucky shares a look with Steve, who has a secret smile on his face that completely acknowledges how Bucky's internal organs are screaming at him to take Tony back to their room. 

"Good," Nat says as Tony does this adorable high kick thing with his left foot and she blocks it expertly. "But never take your eyes off the enemy." Tony gives a startled squeak as Nat pulls back on his extended left foot, uses it to turn Tony's weight and momentum against him and gives Tony a little push backwards. 

Tony yelps from his place on the mat, stares up at Nat with a shit-eating grin on his face. "That is _such _a Bruce-Lee thing to say," he announces with a smug wink. "You guys have the same nose and punch and everything. Are you guys related?"

Nat gives him an unimpressed look, but pulls Tony up anyway and says flatly, "Bruce Lee is a distant relative. My mom's side."

Tony stares back, wide-eyed. "_No_."

Nat continues to stare right back unflinchingly, and Tony's mid freakout is interrupted by Clint's guffaw from the side. "Oh, you fucking gullible bastard. You're smart enough to build a goddamn rocket into space but you believe _this_ shit? Tones," Clint says and grabs Tony by the back of his neck and shakes him. "You're like Bambi. You'll just cease to exist on your own."

"Excuse you, asshole," Tony shoots back and turns in Clint's grasp. "I'll have you know I am nowhere as thick as orphaned Bambi and I do _not _have a white fluffy butt with a tiny brown tail."

"No, your ass is all grey hairs because of all the—" Clint starts to say, and is cut off mid sentence when Tony launches himself at his friend and they both go down in a tangle of limbs and garbled shrieks, and Clint yells from behind a mop of Tony's grimy brown hair, "Hey there are at least three master assassins in this room will one of you get this maggot ass off my back?"

"No," Bucky calls back down gleefully. "I fully support Tony. Tony, try and sound a little manlier when he grabs you like that."

"I'll make sure to grunt like a caveman whenever I am physically touched." Tony agrees and disappears underneath Clint's flailing arms. 

Steve sighs, shoots Bucky a fond look. "Come on, guys, break it off. Bucky's had a busy morning, Tony, tell him about your time with Happy," Steve tells the smaller brunet as he climbs to his feet. 

"Happy?" Bucky asks, swiveling to look at his boyfriend. "You got Happy to take an apprentice?"

Tony blows his hair away from his face, frowns at them. It's supposed to come off as threatening, Bucky faintly registers, but the only thing Tony's achieving is coming off as precious. "I'm not an apprentice. Just a helper. He's so nice, he lets me work with him and I actually get to work with metals and fires and gears..." he trails off, looking a little lost. "It's great. The kind of raw work I never got to do at MIT."

Nat nods, pats Tony on the back with a small smile. "I sometimes forget how sharp you are, _kotenok._"

Bucky raises his eyebrows at that, glances at Nat curiously, and looks away before he gets caught staring at the master Russian spy who can kill with her thighs. 

Tony smiles at her, wide and happy. "And once I finished working with Happy on his new electrical circuit, Steve came and got me and we visited Clint and Nat. Clint was shooting arrows, and he's fucking good at it. Right, Nat?" 

Clint clears his throat, shifts on his feet a little and Bucky chuckles at the subtle display of shyness. "I knew it. Saw you had a thing for arrows the second I caught you staring at the armory in the gym yesterday like a horny bird, trying to hide your fucking boner." Bucky says, and claps Clint on the shoulder heartily. "That's great."

"Buck," Steve scolds lightly. "We don't call people horny birds."

"If the shoe fits," Tony says, and then he starts laughing.

"Dick." Clint says, makes an aggravated noise in the back of his throat, but he's smiling anyways. 

"He's not bad." Nat says with an exasperated smile. "Better than some recruits."

"From you, I'm going to take that as a fucking compliment." Clint tells her with a proud tone.

"Well you should, she meant it as one." Bucky agrees with a hum and puts his hands on Steve's broad shoulders just because he can. 

"I'm confused as how to respond," Clint admits and stares beseechingly at Steve, who downright laughs about it. "There's no Wikihow on accepting compliments from mobsters."

Tony sniffs, still laughing, tries to hide a smile behind his hand. "You know they let anyone edit those articles, right? You could just be one of those unnamed bald divorced guys hunting for a weakness. You were born for it." he adds with a convincing nod. 

It's dangerous, Bucky thinks distantly. How comfortable they're all getting, to the point where they can just all kind of laugh and poke around with each other. How comfortable Nat is, to give Tony endearing nicknames in Russian and for Steve to let himself go and open in a way he never really is when they're at the compound. It's scary how well Tony and Clint fits into their little merry band of miscreants, how well they _click. _It shouldn't be happening, he knows, it should be over in less than four days. It really fucking should. He, Nat, and goddamn Steve, most of all, shouldn't be getting used to this. They all know that.

But the longer he spends with them, the less reason he sees not to enjoy having them around, while they're still here.

Steve pulls him out of his thoughts with a hard tug on his sleeve, and Bucky snaps back to attention. 

Steve has his phone in his hand, and he's looking worried about it. "Buck, she just landed two hours ago. Here, in New York."

"Who?" Bucky asks, searching Steve's blue eyes. 

His boyfriend's face is tight, mouth pulled in a line. "Sharon. She wasn't supposed to be back for another week, which means it was Peggy. Peggy called her to come back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE LEAVE A KUDOS AND A COMMENT IF YOU ENJOYED IT!  
I worked hard to get this to you guys by the end of the week.  
Thank you for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

"Shit," Tony says, crashing onto the ground, wind knocked out of his chest from the mini blast that rolled out of the compressed detonator. "That was fun, huh? We're having fun?"

"Yeah," Happy says and looks down at the smaller brunet on the grime-covered floor. "Yeah, your arm is probably broken in about two places."

Tony shrugs, grins up at the larger man. "Definition of fun, cheeseballs." 

"Steve's gonna rip me a new one if you don't get back to him in one piece," Happy mutters and leans down to pull him up.

Tony takes the offered hand, jumps to his feet and brushes the dirt off. It does nothing for the smudged white tank top he's wearing, and Tony frowns down at it, because honestly if he has to do his own laundry here he'll just have to wear it inside-out. _Lazy shit, _some inner voice in his head whispers accusingly and Tony internally scowls back. 

"So," Tony says and reaches across the workbench to heft the gun in his hands. The gun is heavy, metal cool against his skin and he shifts it around to examine it more closely. There's some kind of energy in the metal, thrumming against his hands. "What'd you make this with?"

Happy takes the dirty rag from his apron and wipes it across his face, squints at Tony. "Trade secrets, kid. If I tell you I'll have to kill you."

"Don't have to oversell it, Happy." Tony says, peering inside the glass vial lodged inside the gun. "I'm already sold. This is beautiful."

Happy snorts, opens up a large meaty palm expectantly. "You like weapons, kid?"

"Not particularly," Tony tells him, shrugs and places the gun into Happy's outstretched hand. It's a beautiful piece of metal, he thinks, but he knows better than to pry about that glass vial inside and the energy coursing through it. "I like electronics. Softwares, gadgets, power systems. I built an energy circuit for MIT once, put it inside a car and powered it without fuel."

"MIT, huh?" Happy asks, tosses a welding mask to him and gestures to the electrical board and circuit system they were working on in the morning. "You one of those pretty polished up kids with a trust fund?"

Tony snaps the welding mask on, blinks at the larger man through the smeared visors. "No," he says, softer. "Worked my ass off for it. Got a scholarship, been doing jobs on the side as an electrical engineer. Had to lie about my age and my experience but hey," and shrugs, "I get the job done so they don't complain."

The welding torch comes on with a hiss and a pop, and he hunkers over the workbench in order to get a closer look at the thin sheets of metal. 

"Didn't think boys like you came any other way other than pretty 'n polished." Happy observes, a tint of approval in his voice. "You're good with metal, I'll give you that."

"How'd you end up working for the Carters?" Tony asks, keeping his eyes on the soldering metal. Sparks are flying, bright and red off his mask. The torch feels comfortable in his hand, and he knows exactly how to use it. 

Happy laughs a little, leans against the bench and watches him. "You ask a lot of questions, kid."

Tony smiles grimly underneath the mask, shakes away the drop of sweat trickling down his forehead. "Don't learn nothing new unless you ask questions. What seventh grade teaches you, hm."

He briefly glances up, and Happy's staring off to the side, looking a little distant. It's not hard to see that the man doesn't talk a lot, is the kind to keep things to himself. It reminds Tony of his own father, those little snippets of a tall, silent Howard in a crisply pressed suit floating in the back of his head. But he doesn't like to think of Howard, so Tony forces himself to focus on the piece of metal and mess of wire smoldering in his fingers. 

"Ten years ago, I was in a pretty bad patch." Happy says, and his face is open, folds his hands together loosely. "Ran with the wrong crowd, got screwed over. They left me with a gut wound and a dislocated shoulder."

"They helped you, didn't they." Tony murmurs, lets the welding torch fade and sets it down on the bench and snaps up the welding mask onto his forehead, hair sticking up. He compiles the metal and wires absently, and glances up at Happy.

"They did," Happy says with a chuckle. "Steve was barely a man, a kid just like you. Probably even younger. Stumbled upon me in that dark alley, and did what his mother told him never to do in these parts. He helped a bleeding man in an alley."

Tony takes a stool, slides onto the seat and wipes his hands on his pants. "Sounds like Steve."

Steve, who's always too good for his own good. It's not a surprise he started young. 

"I got fixed up, was about to go on my way. Thank the golden prince of the Carter family, try and leave with my head on my shoulders," and Happy shakes his head at that, a small smile on his lips. "Steve insisted on seeing me out, pissed his family off. It wasn't so good back then, a rough time for the Carters. Steve had a target on his back."

Tony's eyes widen, and he can't ignore the little prick in his heart when he hears it. "Did someone hurt Steve?"

Happy tilts his head, shows his neck, and there's a pale scar outlined on the slope of his collarbones. "Bomb went off. A small one, and I covered Steve. After that, I don't know how, but they offered me a job here. I became part of the family." And then he gestures to the workshop around them, and there's a glint in his eye Tony recognizes as a man who loves his work. 

Tony's quiet for a moment, and then he says almost thoughtfully, "Your life changed when you met them."

His sure as hell did.

Happy moves towards him, and places his hand gently on Tony's shoulder. "Don't be scared, kid. They're good people." And Happy means it, every word he says, and Tony blinks at him. Happy's face holds, earnest and open, and he can't find it within himself to argue otherwise. 

"I think I can handle it," Tony says, offers Happy a smile that shows more confidence than he's feeling. "Yeah. I've got this."

"Sounds like bullshit to me," Happy tells him and sounds almost affectionate. 

"You know me so well," Tony says and places a hand to his heart, sniffles dramatically. "Papa, can I use that testing chamber over there?" He asks, and gestures behind him to the series of cubes that stand off to the side. They look like glass, but probably high quality polyester. "I tweaked some of your microelectronic explosives this morning, want to test it out."

"You be real fucking careful, Stark," Happy tells him and moves off to the side, heading towards a series of switches on a panel of complicated looking buttons. "If you get blown into bits I'm not cleaning up the pieces."

"Get Clint to do it," Tony calls over his shoulder and busies himself with locating one of the chips inside the small, metallic explosive. "He's not expensive and looks good in a maid outfit. Two dollars an hour should do it for him."

He goes, stands outside the farthest glass cube and touches the panel, the polyester warm against his skin. It smells chemical, feels a little hot where the panels are bonded. 

_That's expensive, _he thinks, but everything about this place says expensive.

"Your friend looks accident-prone. I'd hate to depose two bodies in one day." Happy says, hits a switch, and Tony watches as one panel of the testing chamber slides back into the wall. Clean, neat and precisely engineered. Some kind of mechanical plaything back there, Tony thinks, and his fingers itch to examine it. 

"I'm going to do an impact test first, then maybe a thermal sensitivity test. I wanna know how it reacts to at what range the explosive is capable of detonating under a stressful thermal confinement." Tony says, squints around the room for something to test the impact of the explosive against. 

"Impact machines are around somewhere at the back," Happy replies and stands at Tony and peers down at him. "You know a lot about weapons for an average civilian, kid."

It's kind of undignified, being at least a foot shorter than the other man, because Happy completely takes advantage of the height difference to treat him like he's a kid.

"Not my first time tinkering," Tony says and shrugs, makes an unflattering face. "My dad and I used to go at it in a makeshift work garage." 

"Your dad?" Happy asks, slow and a little wary, like he doesn't know if he should. 

Tony gets a little tense, then, and gets up to look for the impact machine, because talking about his father always gets on his nerves. "Yeah. Howard Stark, original asshole since 1917."

"Shitty father?" Happy nods, and doesn't ask about it any further. 

He can't ignore the relief that spreads in his chest.

"I'm going to the bathroom," Tony says and snaps off the welding mask and places it gently on the table, wincing at the sight of his grime-covered hands and at the bed of his nails. "Need to clean this up before we do the test."

Happy takes the explosive from him, flicks it into a line of metal explosives on a prepared metal plate, and clicks it into place. "Go ahead, it's out the door to the right down the hallway. I'll find the impact machine."

Tony slides over the workbench, pokes Happy on the shoulder because he's brave like that, and on on his way out blows Happy an air kiss, grinning. "Toodles, Papa."

"Yeah, yeah," Happy says gruffly and tosses a rag at his retreating figure. Tony laughs, because the older man's mouth is twitching like he's trying not to smile. "Out."

Tony leaves the workshop, through a series of steps and a door that checks his palm, retina and voice before it lets him out. When Happy first brought him down to the lab, he had stared at Happy, incredulous, and Happy had shrugged, looking cagey and persecuted. "Security against brats," Happy had said shortly, like that was a completely reasonable justification for locking down your basement like it's hiding nuclear launch codes and a truly life-ruining porn collection.

He goes down an empty hallway, and since it's near ground level of the entire compound he knows the silence and sheer inactivity is normal. Tony wanders for a moment, looking like an idiot, and then finds the bathroom when it's nestled close to the elevator at the end of the hall.

Tony opens into the bathroom, and spends a second just staring around. "Holy shit," he says, dumbfounded, because the bathroom is palatial in its own right. Marbled floors, fancy sinks, and a truly expensive-looking roll of velvet toilet paper. "Man, gotta be Happy someday."

He turns on the tap and crystal clear water comes rushing out, and he rubs his fingernails under the water, trying to get the dirt and grime out.

The door clicks open behind him. 

"I'm almost done, Happy." Tony says and scrubs a little faster, eyes fixed on the running grime in the sink. "You go ahead with the tests if you want." It's cute, that the older man came to find him. Tony opens his mouth to make a joke about them really being father-and-son, but there's silence, instead of Happy's gruff retorts, and Tony slowly raises his eyes up to the mirror.

A man, clad in a black mask and attire looms behind him, and Tony only has a split second to think when he sees the flash of metal and the man draws a knife.

Tony glances around, wildly, and reaches behind him to grab the handrail holding the small towel behind and yank it off as a makeshift weapon, and holds it out shakily.

His heart thrums hard and heavy against his chest, like it's trying to fly out if his ribcage, and Tony swallows back the lump of terror growing in his throat. The man smiles, sharp and wild, and Tony narrows his eyes, trying to gauge whether he can make a break for the door. 

"Back off," Tony says and hates himself for sounding scared, for having that little tremor in his voice. His hands feel cold, and the metal stark against his skin. "Who the hell are you?"

The man stares at him, silent. Then he moves, and is on him in a heartbeat, and Tony yells out something garbled, throws hard punches the way Nat taught him and for a moment the man looks surprised like he didn't expect Tony to fight back and Tony takes that precious second to bring down the metal rail, flimsy and weak in his hands onto the man's back but his assailant just grabs it out of his hands like a piece of paper and flings it to the side.

_Shit, _Tony thinks, panicked and loud in his mind. He backs himself up against the counters, fear coiled in his gut.

"Hey, asshole," Tony says, out of breath and holds his hands up and takes a trembling breath. He will _not _give this man the satisfaction of seeing him scared. "Let's talk this out." He eyes the metal container of soap on the sink, and grabs it, hoping he can get close enough to get at least one hit.

The man shakes his head a little, eyes Tony with a lazy disregard that suggests he'll enjoy tearing out Tony's throat, and that he'll be yawning with boredom while he does it. Faintly, Tony thinks it reminds him of the kind of look Howard used to give him.

Tony kicks out at the man, wild and uncoordinated, just as the stranger stalks forward. It's too quick, the whole thing, and the blood is rushing in his ears, because his kick is easily blocked and Tony can't fucking breathe for a moment when the man responds with three vicious jabs to the gut, almost enough to bring Tony down to his knees.

God, he _wants _to get down on his knees.

The masked assailant throws him against the sink, and he slams back into the marble and groans from the stabbing pain that just _explodes_ in his lower back, and tries to struggle up, but his legs are failing him. 

His legs tremble with the effort of keeping up, and Tony glares weakly at the man, and tries to regain his balance with a trembling hand grasping the counter. 

"You don't fucking belong here," The man hisses in his ear and yanks him forward by his torn up shirt and knees him in the gut, and then slams Tony's head down on the bathroom floor.

Tony makes a sound in his throat, pained and shocked, his vision spotting for a moment at the blunt contact with the cold marble.

_Blood, _somewhere in his head registers, there's blood in his mouth.

He grits his teeth, tries to blink against the seering agony that slices across his back and his head, tries to get back up. 

"Go back to where you came from, you and your fucking friend. You're nothing but civilians, and you shouldn't _be _here. It's not right. Steve's grown soft," and the man spits, snarls in rage. "He's grown _weak. _I didn't believe it at first. I thought he was a good leader."

"Steve..." Tony splutters from the metallic tang of blood trickling from his lips. It's in his throat, heavy and thick and Tony decides he _hates _blood. "Steve's good."

"No," the man growls, voice dark and furious. "He's not. Not anymore. I'm not the only one who thinks so," he says, and there's a little laughter in his tone. 

It's sick. "Hey," Tony tips his chin and tries to draw in a breath. It's not getting into his lungs, and he gapes for another. "Does the Geneva Convention know about this?"

It's stupid, he thinks in hindsight, goading on men like that. He gets a kick in his ribs for his trouble and tries not to moan from the pain. 

"Steve's _weak_. You're proof it's true." The man snaps, pointing at him and whirling around towards the door. "Your ribs are probably broken, that's why you can't breathe."

_Damn. _Tony tries to glare at the man, but only succeeds in squinting. "W-well, Florence fucking Nightingale, why don't you tend to me?" 

The stranger snorts, hand on the doorknob. _What's he waiting for?_

Tony decides to stop making the effort to talk, because honestly his neurons are probably fried from all the pain and he can do nothing but lay there, on his back, his head spinning out of control and blinks up at the man lingering above him, trying to remember the lines of his face. 

And he hates it, _hates_ this helplessness taking over his body, that he can't even find the strength to life his arms. 

Tony's eyes roll to the back of his head, and the ceiling is suddenly so fucking bright. So bright it hurts, and then the ceiling is gone, and he freaks out, but then his vision flashes back and the white is blinding.

Tony stretches his fingers, wants to get up. Needs to get up. He knows he has to.

_Happy. _Where's Happy?

"Hey asshole," Tony croaks, lids drooping as black creeps in at the edge of his vision. "At least...'least turn off the fucking light." _It's so goddamn bright, _he thinks. The least this guy could do. He turns his head to the side, and there's a dull, throbbing pain in the back of his head he ignores.

The man becomes nothing but a shadow, silhouette blinking in and out. 

The man tips his head back to smile at him, teeth flashing as he flicks his fingers in a mocking wave. "Night night, baby Stark."

The last thing Tony sees, is the door clicking shut. 


	11. Chapter 11

They're sitting in a board room, all of them.

Sharon is seated opposite of him, staring him down with her arms crossed.

Bucky is sharpening his knife, languid and slow, eyeing the guards behind Sharon with distrust. 

Nat's jaw is tight, her eyes intent and focused on all three. 

Steve sighs. The tension in the room is palpable, rigid and coursing throughout the room. He knew it wasn't a good idea, bringing up Zola, and his impending leadership. He's about to open his mouth, calm everyone down, when the doors to the board room burst open and an agent, looking panicked and scared rushes inside, and it sets off a chain reaction. 

Sharon scowls, whipping around. "This is a classified meeting, agent, what's your—"

The agent, who Steve recognizes as Tom Jensen, a seasoned officer, ignores Sharon and turns to face him, eyes wide. "Mr Carter, sir, there's been an incident, involving the young Stark, Mr. Hogan sent me to tell you—" Jensen says more, mouth moving, but Steve is already standing up, his heart stopping in his chest.

The sharpening of Bucky's knife grinds to a jarring stop. 

Nat jumps to her feet, fires off questions, "What? What happened?"

"You better come quick, Mr. Carter," Jensen says quickly, eyes swinging from Nat to him. "Mr. Hogan says it's pretty bad."

"What the fuck happened?" Bucky snaps, voice taut, and grabs Steve by the neck, pushing him out the door. Nat follows behind, working her jaw, and Sharon is moving around behind them. He stumbles, mind racing, and all he can hear is _Tony is hurt. Tony is hurt._

_Tony is hurt. _

"Steve!" Nat says, sharp and cuts through his thoughts. "Pull yourself together. We have to get Tony."

"Steve," Sharon says, eyes narrowed, but falls silent at Nat's harsh glance.

Bucky's shoulders are quivering, a sign he knows means that the brunet is worried and angry. It's something he doesn't see often, and Steve blinks back to focus, and his heart roars in his ears. _Do something. Take charge._

"How badly is he hurt?" Steve says, forcing the whirlwind to the back of his mind and staring straight ahead. He's needed, Tony needs him, and he will not fail Tony. They're moving fast, almost running, and attracting concerned glances along the way. Down the hallway, to the next, he vaguely registers Bucky telling him to turn left. 

They're headed to the medical wing. 

Jensen is brisk, ahead of them, and answers curtly. "I haven't seen him, sir, but Mr. Hogan seems to be very furious."

Bucky snarls next to him. "Fucking hell, what happened? Who the fuck _dared_?" 

Nat looks between the both of them, green eyes glinting. "We'll find that out later," and there's something dark in her voice, promising _pain. _

Tony's hurt, and Steve wasn't there. He wasn't there to stop it, and he wasn't there to help.

The guilt weighs, massive and unbearable, in his gut. It's going to bring all of him down with it. Nat touches him softly on his shoulder, and Steve turns to her, saying everything with his eyes. She nods. 

They're at the medical wing, and Steve locks eyes on the first doctor he finds. "Tony Stark, Happy Hogan, where are they?" And the nurses and the doctors must see something in him, in all of them, because there's fear in the air and no one says anything for a split second.

Bucky twitches beside him. He's about to explode.

A man in a white coat steps forward, gestures them to follow him. "Mr. Stark? He's in room 204. They're stabilizing him." The doctor, wise man, knows exactly who they are and leads them down the corridor, points to the room 204. 

The door swings open, and Happy strides forward, blood dappled across his shirt. "Steve, Bucky, thank God you're here. Tony was attacked in the bathroom—"

But Steve's not listening, because when he catches sight of Tony, that's where he goes. 

He reaches the brunet's bedside, sees the tubes, the breathing mask settled on Tony's face, and the bandages wrapped around his head. And there's so many things he wants to do, but he slowly falls to his knees, eyes fixed on the brunet's lax face.

Tony's pale, eyes shut, eyelashes resting against his cheeks. Steve reaches forward, heart breaking, and runs his fingers through Tony's forehead and his hair. "Tony?" He says, softly, and rests his fingers against the brunet's cold cheek. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You'll be okay. I promise." 

Tony doesn't reply. He doesn't even open his eyes. 

Bucky crouches next to him, eyes dark with fury. "Tony," he says, voice cracking. "Fuck, Steve, _fuck. _How, how the fuck did this happen? Can anyone tell me _anything?" _and he turns, on his feet, favorite knife in his hands. Steve blinks, gazes at Bucky distantly. 

"Buck," he says, flatly. "Talk to Happy. See what he knows." 

Happy's in the corner, arms crossed, mouth pulled tight. "We were working down in the lab. Everything was fine, and then Tony went to go to the bathroom, while I looked for something to complete our experiment. He took a while," and Happy grits his teeth, eyes straying to Tony's prone form in the hospital bed. "He took a while, so I went to look for him. I found him on the floor, blood around his head, and I wrapped it with my shirt and called for help."

Bucky's staring at Happy, eyes narrowed. "You let him go alone?" and there's misplaced anger in his voice, and Nat notices it too because she steps in front of Bucky, stares right into his eyes. 

"Buck," she says, a warning in her voice. "It's not his fault." 

Happy blinks, glances up at the ceiling and down again, fists clenched. "No, it is. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I should've been there." 

"No, she's right," Steve says, voice dry. He feels small, and he feels helpless. How can he protect _anyone_, his family, when he can't even protect Tony? "It's not Happy's fault. It's mine. I asked him to stay. I _let _him stay, when I fucking knew it was stupid, and now he's hurt, because of me."

Bucky glances at him, eyes hollow, then back to Tony. The muscled brunet's shoulders sag a little. 

"Steve," Nat says, voice hard. "We are _not _playing the blame game. Tony's hurt, and it's our job to figure out who is responsible, and it is our job to fix this." She moves, lithe and smooth, over to the door and waves in the doctor who's been lingering outside the entire time. "We need to know everything. So get your head on straight, _Carter._" She takes Steve's chin in her hand, looks right into him. "Alright?"

Steve stands, facing the cautious doctor. He breathes in, settling his heart, his frantic mind, and focuses on one razor sharp thought. _How to help Tony now_. "Doctor, how is he?"

The doctor introduces himself as Jerry, and holds out a clipboard. "He's stable, which is very good, considering his state when he came in had us worried about internal bleeding. But he doesn't," the doctor says hurriedly, when Bucky's head snaps up sharply. "We have him on a drip, sleeping meds, a breathing incubator until we know for sure the condition of his ribs and lungs. He's sustained a minor concussion, could have been worse if there was a second impact but there wasn't, so that's very good news. We've treated his head wound, and waiting on X-Rays to determine whether the damage to his ribs are severe."

Nat nods. "Thank you, doctor. Please make sure he's in no pain and comfortable."

The doctor dips his head, and takes that as his cue to leave.

With every passing second, there's more rage coiling up in his gut, tight and raring to break free. His shoulders are tight, and Steve takes another deep breath in order to resist losing control. He can't. This is his mess, and he _will _fix it. 

Bucky's knife is out again, twirling in his hands, fast and dangerous. "I'm going to _flay _the person who did this," he says, fury barely concealed in his voice. "I'm going to rip their throats out."

Nat lets out a breath, and there's a sadness in her gaze. "We have to make this right." She moves to Tony's bedside, leans down and brushes her fingers against the brunet's hair. "_Kotenok,_" she murmurs softly. "We will get you justice."

"This was someone from the inside," Bucky says, voice low. "Just like how McCullough put men on Tony and Clint's apartments. This was someone we _know_."

"They're trying to send us a message," Steve says, stares at Tony's sleeping face. "Sending _me _a message." The realization is sudden, hits him like a wave of cold water, and he reels from it. "This is for me."

Nat squints at him, and a spark of understanding dawns in her eyes. "It's because Tony's connected to you. Everyone's been talking about it, about us bringing in civilians. Many are unhappy." 

"This is a protest on your leadership?" Bucky asks, blue eyes like ice.

There's nothing soft or calm about the way he stands, shoulders squared, metal arm glinting, the Winter Soldier bleeding through the cracks. 

"I'm taking over soon. They all know it." Steve says, and eyes his two most loyal friends in the world. "I think it's someone closer than we know. Someone who has the power, and the pull."

A growl rumbles in Bucky's throat, and his metal fingers flex, machinery whirring. "I think I know who he is. It doesn't surprise me, that fucking _coward,_" he spits. "Using an innocent civilian to make his point instead of directly to our faces. Fucking cunt."

"We can't let him think we suspect him," Nat tells him quietly. "We need to let him think we're going after someone else."

"Maybe some random agent who thought he knew better, felt like Tony is a threat." Steve says, and shakes his head. He shouldn't have to pretend, pretend like he doesn't know whose fault it is Tony's lying in a hospital bed, in pain. He shouldn't have to pretend like he doesn't know who put the terror in Tony's eyes, the terror he must've felt when they came for him. 

"Let's tell him to get fucked," Bucky suggests, and Nat rolls her eyes in good humor. "Let's tell him that, only without words, and with the tip of my very handy knives."

"Plan B," Steve agrees and his mouth twitches. "Alright. We play this slow. No one else comes to harm. Just between the three of us, yeah?"

They nod.

"Sharon," Nat says, reminding him. "What are you going to do?"

Steve grits his teeth, looking away. "She can wait. I'll ask Peggy to field any questions for now. This is a priority. I'm going to find Tony's attacker."

"Steve, be careful," Nat warns, her green eyes searching. "We have to proceed cautiously. Whoever did this, they're _expecting _you to retaliate. You don't want to play right into their hand. People don't expect you to fight tooth and claw for Tony. If you do—"

Bucky whirls on her, then, teeth flashing, and snaps, "What are you saying? You don't think we should find who _did_ _this?"_

Nat faces him, calmly. She's always been the more rational one, out of the three of them. 

"I want to find the attacker as much as you do, Buck," Nat says steadily. "But there are deeper and darker things at play here."

Steve raises his head, suddenly feeling a wave of exhaustion threatening to sweep over his bones. He wants to sit down, next to Tony's bed, and shut everything away. But he can't do that, and the heavy weight of his _duty _burdens on his shoulders. 

"She's right, Buck." Steve says, voice quiet. "But if I let this go unpunished, I'll look weak. Tony was clearly and officially under my protection, so is Clint. They're both in danger now, and if I do not respond, it'll seem like I have no control, or authority over them or anyone else. Then they'll stop listening to me."

Bucky jams his knife back, into his belt, and glares balefully at him. "So what? Are you going to do something about it?"

Steve clears his throat, tries to tamp down the feelings of anger, anger for himself, for Tony, and _horror, _because what kind of monster would attack an innocent civilian? What kind of monster, would leave Tony, sweet, smart, kind _Tony, _lying on the floor in his own blood? 

Bucky is looking at him, expectant, like when Steve gives the command, he'll unleash the Winter Soldier. 

Nat is standing next to him, silent and trustworthy, at his side. 

He _is _the leader. 

There will be no mercy for the one who hurt Tony. 

He turns, kicks open the door, stalks into the hallway. Jensen is standing with a group of agents, all under his command. They're part of an elite group, and Steve himself trains with them, so he knows they can be trusted. 

"Jensen," Steve says, and everyone turns to face him. Expectant. "I want two guards. Posted by Tony's door, day and night. Find ones you trust. Send two more to me, and I want them with the other civilian, Clint Barton, at all times. The rest of you, I want you looking at security footage, anywhere near the lab, I want to know who the hell did this."

Bucky steps forward, flashes his teeth in the parody of a smile. "I hope I don't have to _convince_ anyone to work very hard_._" 

Nat touches him on the shoulder, and tells him softly, "I'm going to find Clint. Make sure he's alright and tell him about Tony."

Steve nods, and then turns to face the people in the halls. "This will not go unpunished," Steve says, raising his voice.

He feels the eyes of his agents on him, and hope anyone involved is also listening. "This was an attack against _my _leadership, _my _authority, and I will not let this happen again. That young man was under my protection. And I know some people here question my decisions, and your concerns are valid, but I will _not_ have innocents harmed in order to make a _point. _If you have a problem," Steve rakes his gaze around the room, and not one person meets his eyes. "You have it with me. Only me."

"This was the work of a coward. Make no mistake," Steve says, voice dropping into a snarl. "I will find the person responsible."

He hopes, that this will reach whoever orchestrated the attack. He hopes it's enough, that this shows the world that Tony is theirs. Theirs to protect, and theirs to defend. 

The agents disperse, quickly, expressions nervous. Jensen turns and gestures two men behind him, and at Steve's permitting nod, they move to stand sentry outside Tony's door. It's not the first time Steve has shown this much anger, because the last time he did, things went south real fast. 

"Steve," Bucky says, and Steve turns to see his best friend's face tightened and creased in a scowl. "I need to do something. I need to get my hands on someone," he explains, tense. Bucky's metal arm is whirring again, restless, and there's a certain wildness in the back of his eyes Steve knows too well. 

Steve frowns, motions Bucky to the hallway, out of sight from any prying eyes. "Is the Winter Soldier close?"

Bucky lets out a forced breath, blinks up at him. "Yeah," and there's an apology in his voice. "Just, seeing Tony..." and he trails off, looking distant. 

"I understand, sweetheart." Steve says softly, leaning in close. He _needs _the comfort, the closeness only Bucky can bring. "You don't need to be sorry."

"Sometimes he's right there, at the back of my mind. Just waiting to come out." Bucky breathes, fingers flexing. 

Steve watches his best friend carefully, trying to find markings of the Winter Soldier. He had learned to, after years of being by Bucky's side during the intense therapy sessions that left Bucky shaking and sweating, needing to be helped out before he went through an episode, after the night terrors that had left Bucky in terrified tears more than once. He had been through it all, endured the suffering with his best friend without batting an eye.

"He's a part of you, Buck," Steve tells him, presses a kiss on his forehead. "You're in control. Okay? You're in control." 

Bucky sighs, hand going to the strap that holds his knife. "I need to distract myself. If I stay here I'm going to go insane."

They all need something to distract themselves when things goes sideways.

With Nat, she always goes to her room, for about an hour, turns off the lights, and doesn't come out for at least an hour.

To keep his own cool, Steve always heads to the gym and stays there until the rage is burned out. 

With Bucky, he needs a physical distraction, needs the adrenaline of a thrill, a _hunt. _

Steve racks his brain, trying to think of something. Bucky's blue eyes are shadowed and his shoulders hunched, and he knows how close the Winter Soldier might be if Bucky's this wound up.

"You came to me yesterday with a name from Carlston, something about the Rogues, and it could be connected to Zola." Steve says, taking a hold of Bucky's shoulder and staring into his eyes. "You remember? You said you had a name, a lead."

Bucky looks up sharply and nods, blue eyes flashing. "Niki Rosten."

"Will you be okay by yourself?" Steve asks, fretting. He doesn't want Bucky to lose control out there. "Maybe I can send a team with you. Or Wanda, Pietro."

But Bucky shakes his head, and says, "No, Stevie. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. I'll be back in a few hours." Then, his eyes straying past Steve's shoulder, he murmurs, "Look after Tony for me."

"Call if you need help," Steve says and touches Bucky's cheek before the muscular brunet leaves, shoulders a little less tight.

Steve watches Bucky go, chest feeling hollow, unable to ignore the fear wrapping around his gut and the sense of foreboding crawling on his skin, raking shivers down the back of his spine. He swallows back his feelings of unease, and runs a hand through his unruly hair.

He watches till he loses sight of his best friend, and wonders if he made the right choice.


	12. Chapter 12

It doesn't take him long to get what he needs from the mechanic flailing gracelessly in his grasp.

Bucky doesn't want to kill him, really, he doesn't. But the Winter Soldier is close, his icy fingers gripped around Bucky's throat and he's telling him to _snap, snap that neck. It'll feel good, _the Soldier whispers in his ear, fingertips trailing over the hollow in his collarbones. Bucky quivers ever so slightly, desperately drawing for a breath but it seems like the air is trapped in his lungs, convulsing and writhing.

It's unattainable, and Bucky's throat closes, vision flashing white. 

_Do it, soldat. _

_Do it._

A smile, ruthlessly cold, stretches in a tragic imitation of the Cheshire Cat grin on the Soldier's face.

"Pl-ease," the mechanic chokes, words coming out spluttered with drops of blood on the floor. "D-don't kill me, I'll tell you a-anything—"

Bucky shudders again, clawing himself back into the present. He looks down, briefly, and his chest is heaving, knuckles turning white from where they're gripping the mechanic's head. The mechanic, suspended between Bucky's legs like a fallen fawn whimpers, eyes wide and glittering with unshed tears and the struggle resumes again.

The Soldier curls his lip at that. _Pathetic. Clinging to a life not worth living, _and the Soldier tuts. _Why even bother, hmm?_

_All life is precious, _Bucky replies tartly, and the Soldier snorts. 

Bucky tilts the mechanic's chin up, and forces his voice to work. "You're sure this is where she lives?" He rasps, raking his eyes over the address written on a small piece of paper the mechanic had quickly scrawled on when Bucky's hands first wrapped around his neck. 

The mechanic nods frantically, saliva dripping off his lips. "Yes, yes, I wouldn't lie, I fucking promise, I swear to God—"

_God means nothing to me, _the Soldier murmurs, blue eyes growing paler in the darkness. Bucky breathes out shakily, blinks, and the Soldier's closer now, silhouette so close to him he _feels _the glint and the sharp cold of metal touching his skin. The Soldier's calm, measured breaths, rising and falling beneath him, behind him, _in him. _

"I know who you are," the mechanic says, voice shattering in pieces. "The Winter Soldier, I wouldn't _lie. _That is where Niki Rosten lives. I _swear it."_

_He's lying, _and the Soldier makes a noise in his throat, a pleased _purr. Why not just kill him and get it over with? Steve would be delighted at finding a corpse you left behind. Imagine Tony's face. He'd be fascinated. _

_Steve won't let me get away with cold-blooded murder, _Bucky retorts, angry at the suggestion.

_No, he wouldn't, would he? Maybe it's time to—_

"_No_," Bucky snaps, and lets go. 

His metal fingers loosen around the mechanic's throat, and the poor man scrambles away so quickly he's surprised he doesn't twist his ankle. The mechanic is still on the floor, watching him with terrorized eyes and paralyzed limbs. He can _smell _the fear radiating from the hunched figure. The silence is deafening, and Bucky straightens, and the Soldier fades away in a drumming heartbeat to nestle somewhere in the shadows. 

"Please," the mechanic says again, eyes wavering from side to side. No doubt looking for something to defend himself with. There's a wench, lying to the side, forgotten in the struggle next to the hood of an expensive Ferrari, clearly stolen since the plates are tossed to the side. But the mechanic doesn't risk it, thankfully, and so Bucky doesn't have to kill anyone today. 

Yet. "Don't tell anyone I was here." Bucky rasps, and forces himself to move, move towards the glaring garage door. 

He doesn't have to look back to know the mechanic will listen. 

Bucky stumbles out of the washed out garage, pulls down the metal sheet behind him and it drops to the floor with a resounding screech. The sunlight is suddenly blinding, and Bucky shakes his head, trying to focus despite its glare. He takes out the piece of paper and squints at the address, wildly scrawled. 

He glances up, peers around, and the street is eerily empty. There's no one around, which is mildly suspicious given it's still daylight. 

There's a few cranking noises from inside the garage, and Bucky eyes the door from his peripheral vision.

It didn't take him long to find the mechanic, after working through all known records of Niki Rosten, he'd come to the conclusion that in her free time, she dallied among car dealers. A car thief, and a talented one at that. And there'd been records of her purchasing several vintage classics, and only one referral listed as the dealership. The mechanic had blabbed almost immediately, that she was a frequent customer, and after a few minutes Bucky had gotten her address.

Briefly, Bucky entertains the thought of remarking to Rosten, once he's found her, that she should really get a reputable dealer. 

Because if the majority of the people she's worked with is as boneless as the mechanic, he really does wonder exactly how she's managed to stay alive until now.

The address is only a few blocks from the mechanic's dealer garage. That's good. That means she's sloppy, because everyone knows living near anyone who knows where you are, who you are and especially someone who works for you is a mistake, a mistake that can get you killed. 

So Bucky gets on his motorcycle, swings right up, and suddenly Tony flashes into his mind, Tony who when he first saw Bucky's motorcycle grinned the biggest grin and told him that he'd love to show that motorcycle a good time, in his workshop, and winked. 

Bucky had flirted back, asked if the motorcycle's owner could have a good time too, and reveled when Tony's eyes grew a little bigger and smile a little delighted.

He breathes out sharply, and can't stop himself from seeing Tony's bruised, swollen face, pale and unmoving against white, empty sheets. The parting of Tony's lips, blood trickling from the edges of ghostly pink. Unseeing eyes, cloudy and grey, staring up at nothing. He has to physically ground himself, in order to convince himself Tony _isn't _dead, that he's alright, back at the compound with Steve. 

_Ah, death is all around you isn't it? _The Soldier murmurs gleefully in his ear, and it's so soft, Bucky nearly loses it to the wind. 

Bucky shivers, heart thudding against his chest and he knows that if he stays there for a moment longer, it's another moment the Soldier grows a little larger and a little more _there _in his mind so he revs the engine and as the vehicle springs to life underneath him, he loses himself in the stream of gas and pure, unadulterated noise.

And he's almost there before he knows it, zooming through the streets, the wind whipping at his hair, and nearly runs over an unassuming pedestrian walking on the sidewalk who yells out an outraged "hey!" and then, "I'm walking over here!"

Bucky shoots a quick look back and an apologetic smile, in partnership with a held up hand in the universal gesture of 'I'm sorry' and chuckles to himself at the thought of Steve having to explain to Peggy how Bucky directly caused the death of some poor bastard on his way to the local bagelshop during one of his _excursions. _

_Yes, Peggy, I know Bucky's supposed to be under my supervision but I don't know, he just left, yes, went up and fucked right off, and _yes, _I know he's had a troublesome history but really, what can we do? Return him to the shelter? _

Peggy's resounding gasp of horror loops in his mind.

He absolutely pictures himself replying in a neat, sincere little tone, _I just made a guy's bank debts and mortgages disappear. I saved him from an ugly divorce that would've left him with only his shoes 'cos his wife is a bitch and she took the TV and his goddamn Playboy magazines. _

_Honestly, I saved him from a soulless life. _

Steve, the self-sacrificing moron, would offer himself up on a stick the second Peggy's eyebrows furrowed in the middle in blatant rejection of Bucky's reply. 

_I'd never hear the end of it,_ Bucky thinks fondly, imagining Steve's disgruntled but soft look he's so used to being on the receiving end of. 

He ends up on the corner of Niki Rosten's street in a minute and a half, and the apartment building is tall, solitary-looking, grey and washed out but not as half bad as he would've expected. But then again, she _is _McCullough's daughter. It's more of a surprise she isn't living in a lavish penthouse instead. 

Knowing McCullough, he'd even have a statue of himself (sucking dick) doing a preposterously offensive pose of himself stationed somewhere, in full view of tragic visitors. 

No wonder Rosten chose this bourgeoisie bullshit. 

Bucky moves quickly, parks his motorcycle somewhere that won't be seen, and only takes the essentials with him; his favorite Walther handgun, two rounds of ammo tucked in his waistband, and the FNX-45 flashy golden gun Natasha gave him for last Christmas as an inside joke. He's got a grenade clipped to his belt, and at least two of his most practical tactical knives resting comfortable in the small of his back. 

Then he strides to the building, debates whether to just shoot the lock on the damn thing if he puts a silencer on his gun but then the door clicks open, and a woman with frazzled red hair stumbles out, looking disarrayed.

She glances at him, aggravated and expectant. "Oi, you goin' in?" The woman asks in a harsh British accent, and it sounds like Mary Poppins gone all 50 shades of wrong. 

Her hand goes to the scruffy handbag hanging off her thin, scrawny shoulder and the other hand bracing the door open. Bucky watches her eyes flicker from side to side in the scared, jittery way animals do when they sense a predator is near, and feels a stab of pity. 

Bucky regards her slowly, wondering whether to tell her not to be scared. _No, ma'am, I'm wearing the type of black gear hitmen do on TV but I'm really not dangerous, and these bulges in my jackets are really packets of Sour Patches and not guns. _

_Really, ma'am. Swear it. Scout's honor.   
_

He never joined the Scouts. He can see her skeptical raised eyebrows already.

"Yes, thanks," he says at last, and and shoulders his way through the open door, ignoring the weight of the woman's stare on his back. 

At least she can always say plausible deniability, Bucky tells himself. 

There's only two stories, and Bucky checks the paper with the address again, and it says, _Mail: 2B. _

He makes it up the stairs in doubles, quiet and fast, in under a minute. _300 calories gone just like that, _Bucky thinks in satisfaction. Denial is a powerful tool. 

The door to 2B looks much, much older than its neighbors, the wood cracked and sporting at least two patches of mould, or whatever else it is. He has to suppress a shiver at the thought of the contents inside the apartment. Leaning against the door, he presses his ear against the cold wood and listens for any signs of movement inside. 

_Alright_, he grew up on CSI. 

In one single breath, Bucky whirls on his feet and kicks the door down in one powerful sweep of his leg, and that crackpoor shit of a door slams onto the ground, splintering and Bucky strides inside, the Walther gripped firmly in his hands and eyes tracking each corner. 

The apartment is empty, and Bucky surveys the place. The curtains are drawn, and the only light comes in from a tiny kitchen window on his right, and literally the entire room is a mess. Magazines, files, documents piled on the floor, clothes strewn on the couch, and since the living room is tiny Bucky peers into the bathroom, and wrinkles his nose at the smell. 

"What a fucking slob," Bucky says out loud to no one in particular, and nudges a small pot of cactus away from a bowl of unfinished cereal. _On the floor. _Cactus and Cereal? This Rosten character is odd. 

This is a whole new level of messy, kinda unhealthy, and obviously it's not only McCullough's crime business he can't raise properly. 

"Hey!" A man shouts, slamming open the bedroom door. "Who's there?" There's a gun in his hand, and Bucky vaults over the couch and strikes heavy and hard at his knee, wrenches the man's gun away with his metal hand and with a pained screech the man falls to his hands, and Bucky knocks him unconscious with the butt of his own gun. 

"Ricky? What's going—" A tall, broad-shouldered Australian with a buzzcut stomps out, and sees the body hanging limply from Bucky's arms. Expression contorting, he raises the gun and fires, three rounds, and Bucky's already pushing the unconscious man in front of him, and hisses in displeasure when the bullets bury themselves in his heavy charge. 

Blood splatters onto his boots and Bucky makes a noise of displeasure, and drops the now dead man to the floor. 

"You just killed your friend," Bucky comments, and the Australian drops his gun, brandishes a silver knife. Bucky pockets his own gun and takes an upright boxing stance, tac knife held in his right hand. 

The Australian strikes first, expertly driving the knife in vicious twirls in the space between them that Bucky has to consciously side-step, and Bucky dodges in time to punch, with his left hand, straight into the Australian's chest. Right in the center, between the ribcages, a weak spot that when pushed collapses and at the same time d his drives his knife across the Australian's abdomen.

The blood wells, black and tinged with metal from the wound but really, Bucky's made sure it's missed all his vital organs. In a swift motion he swipes with his leg and the Australian topples to the floor, knife clattering to the side, hand to the wound in his belly, groaning in pain. 

_The Soldier smiles at that. _

Bucky drops to a couch, metal hand around the Australian's throat. "Let her go," he intones, and glances up towards the open bedroom door, where another man stands uncertainly, his back to the wall, clutching a gun pressed to the side of a woman's head. 

"What do you want with her?" The man holding Niki Rosten snaps, and Bucky notes the tremor in which he holds the hand that decidedly means these aren't professionals. 

He motions to the Australian struggling beneath him. "I won't kill your friend, if you let her go," he says again, lazily. 

There's indecision in the remaining goon's eyes but already Bucky can tell what he'll do. 

So when the man reacts, takes the gun from Rosten's head to point at _him, _Bucky's already made peace with another death. The Australian's eyes are bulging from the metal hand choking him out, saliva frothing at the edges of his mouth.

Rosten reacts, driving her elbow into her captor's gut, and launches herself out of sight in the identical moment Bucky whips out his Walther, closes one eye in persistent aim, and presses the trigger. 

The man topples to the floor, dead, and his shot goes wry, into the drywall instead of in Bucky's skull. 

Then there's a click of a safety going off behind him, and Bucky turns around, slowly (theatrically if he's being honest) and right into the barrel of a gun.

Niki Rosten is attractive, wavy dark brown hair pulled up in a high ponytail, auburn eyes sharp and bright. In spite of the bruises on her wrists and superficial cuts on her face, he can immediately see she's not an amateur, the way she holds her gun, it's sure and calm. He'll have to move slowly, maybe talk her down. She's also..._tall, _and Bucky's eyebrows tickle upwards at that. 

"I thought you'd be taller," he says, because it's the first thing that runs through his mind. _Nice, _the Soldier snarks in his mind, slow-clapping. Bucky scowls. 

Rosten narrows her eyes and gestures to the broken door strewn around her feet, and the three—no, two dead bodies on the floor. "I thought you'd be more polite." 

"I feel like we're already bonding." Bucky says, truthfully, and grins a little. 

"You need better friendships then," Rosten shoots back, deadpan, and motions with a small tip of her head. "Put the gun down." 

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," Bucky returns calmly, and raises his pinky finger in an effort to show his intentions of peace. Really, the UN would be proud. _Steve _would be proud. It must be effective, because Rosten follows the movement and lowers her gun slowly, and Bucky does the same until the guns are both hanging by their sides. 

_I like how we're just ignoring the very dead men in your apartment,_ Bucky thinks dryly. 

Rosten arches an inquisitive eyebrow. "Bucky Barnes, also known as the Winter Soldier, and Steve Carter's little right-hand man. Fitting," she adds, eyes trailing to the left metal one. "It's a pleasure to meet your acquaintance. And just in time, too."

"A sense of humor," Bucky acknowledges with a tip of his head. "Did _not _learn that from your father." It's nice, to see Rosten's mouth quirk up in something that resembles a smile. She takes a wary step back, and Bucky commits the small details to memory; the way her finger's flexing on the gun, firing it is in the forefront of her mind. Bags under her eyes, she hasn't slept and there's a little fidgety stance in her left leg that implies a loss of focus and perfect form, and he can use that. "Pissed a couple people off, have you?" 

"Just the normal amount," Rosten murmurs in response. She touches her bruised wrists, wincing slightly. "I won't ask if you know who I am, because there's no other reason you would be here," Rosten says, brushing it off, and Bucky shrugs in agreement. _I like her. She gets right to the point. _"Are you here to talk or to make a point?"

And by that, she's asking if they're negotiating a deal or if he's going to kill her.

"To talk," Bucky says honestly, and blinks. "I'm here for information. About your father, about the Rogues, and well, I've gotten reports of demonic activity in the city increasing by the name of Zola."

"He really is a piece of shit," Rosten surmises with a dry smile. 

"Which one, your father or Zola?"

"Yes." Rosten replies, and Bucky lets out a bark of laughter. 

"Can't argue with that," Bucky tells her and draws his long finger against the base of his gun, trailing on the cool metal. "Listen. I really don't want to hurt you, or anyone today. But my friend's hurt, and we think this goes a shitload deeper than we thought. I would like to leave here today with...substantial news."

"We," Rosten repeats and leans back against the wall. Her hold on the gun is a little tighter, and Bucky shifts his position a little, so he can duck for cover if they start shooting. He hopes not. "You and your blond boyfriend, and that posse of an assassin and two civilians?"

He doesn't ask how she knows. "Yeah." Her body will be a bitch to hide, if it comes to that. 

"What do I get from this?" Rosten asks, sounding relatively bored. But he can tell she's a bit flustered, her stance becoming slightly more fidgety. 

_Your life,_ Bucky thinks silently, and just blinks at her. 

She understands. 

Rosten stays quiet for a second, and when she talks, it's slow and measured. "I'm assuming you want to know about the Rogues, which is how you found me." She takes a breath, like it's physically painful, and Bucky frowns in faux-sympathy in honor of their newly forged bond. "My father and I aren't on the best of terms," she begins carefully. 

"I joined the Rogues a few months ago. Mostly ex-military, never escaped the battlefield. I became their, well, leader. We were backed by Carlston, and we worked for him. Pay was good, job was easy, we went in and out on standard mercenary jobs. But then the jobs started getting botched," and Rosten's auburn eyes flash dark for a moment, as if reliving some particularly horrifying past. "And we lost two. Two good men. I left, after that, with my team, and Zola was waiting in hand with a check, bigger and better than what we had with Carlston."

It's always the same story with these mercenaries. Erik's been saying the same for years, how fragile the bond is between mercenary and hire. They go where the money goes, and Erik referred to them simply as _blood hounds. _

Bucky waits patiently for Rosten to finish. "So we started working for Zola, and a few days ago, some of my team went on a drop-off, important stuff, Zola neglected to give us the details but it was clear, transport it safely."

She cocks her head at that. "You were there. One of mine nearly got you."

"One nearly did," Bucky concedes. "I really must meet them. Fantastic skills."

"What a compliment," Rosten chuckles softly. "Straight from the Winter Soldier himself."

"You were alone here. Where's your team?"

"I've been on my own for a while," Rosten says and there's something off about the way she says it, razor-sharp beneath a calm tone. 

Bucky itches to ask. "Does Zola know you're McCullough's daughter?" He wonders if Rosten really is telling him the truth. It's not uncommon for mercenaries to talk, since their loyalty is mostly unbounded, but in Rosten's case he suspects the opposite. "He must have."

Rosten rolls her eyes, theatrically in response. "Of course. But I don't make it a point to run around telling everyone that. My father's not," and she hesitates. "Beloved in this city. He's passionate like that," and there's a tremor of bitterness in her voice. "Never does anything half-assed."

"In our line of work, half-assed gets you killed," Bucky tells her solemnly. "Thank you for cooperating." It sounds hard in his mouth, rocky and chipped, cutting his tongue in different places. 

Rosten eyes him delicately, and finally says, "You're going to kill them, aren't you? Or you're going to stop them somehow. My father's long been an enemy of the Carters, and Zola's resurfaced after years of inactivity. I've read the reports, I know Peggy Carter will take the opportunity."

"Two birds with one stone," Bucky says carefully, because he _is _talking about the girl's father, after all. "And if you still work for Zola, I'm sure we'll cross paths again on the field."

_One of us will probably end up dead. _

"Do you have a father?" Rosten suddenly says, and then laughs sharply, "That was a stupid question."

It throws him off, though, just for a second and Rosten immediately catches on to it like a moth to a flame. He regains his footing, and then lifts his shoulders in a shrug. _Interesting tactic. _"I did," he says, quietly. "I don't remember much, but he was there at one point."

"Then at another point," Rosten continues, and takes a step forward. She's a meter apart from him, and they're staring at each other, blue eyes meeting auburn. "He wasn't."

"Asking questions like that, you must've been in therapy at one point." Bucky remarks, and she obviously takes his silence to her question as a 'yes', because she looks satisfied. He flexes his metal fingers. He really should wrap this up, and get back to the compound, to see Steve and Nat, to see _Tony. _God. He really wants to see Tony. 

"I want to help," Rosten says, sure and firm and just like that she's flipped the table on him _again. _The amount of people to do that in a timeframe of just five minutes is very rare, and he regards her with a lot more than interest. 

"What," Bucky echoes, dumbly. Really. _What._

"I want to help," Rosten repeats and stares at him earnestly. "Take my father down."

"Yeah, bullshit," Bucky says in faint wonder and moves towards the door—okay, hole in the wall that used to be a door. _I'm going to have to send a check to the landlord for that, _he thinks grimly. 

"Barnes." Rosten says, voice steely. She takes ahold of his shoulder and it's enough to stop his way out the door—excuse him, hole. "I'm serious. You can trust me. I want to help."

"I absolutely can't," Bucky protests, and really looks at her. Fuck. She's serious, she really is. "Why?" he asks, right into those auburn eyes. They don't waver. 

"He killed my mother," and it's so simple, that phrase, coined into their world like a brand of vengeance and honor and Bucky stops in his tracks. Rosten stares at him calmly, like she's already expecting a cheerful 'yes' and they'll be on their way. "I'm afraid I won't let you leave without bringing me to your compound."

"Alright," Bucky complains and leans on his heels. "That's just page one out of the Double-Agent Spy Manipulating Tactics handbook. I've _studied _that handbook." _I made templates out of that handbook._

"I'm going to kill my father," Rosten repeats _again_, and marches in front of him like a petulant child. "With your help. And your team's. Here," she says and holds her wrists out behind her like a trophy. "You can even cuff me."

"That will do absolutely nothing."

"It will. Just let me talk to your team. I can convince them, to let me help, and I've got information you guys don't have and _no, _I won't tell you, and trust me, I can contribute to whatever you've got going on. Zola, my father, the Rogues. I'm your way in."

"You're also _their _way in," Bucky retorts and his hackles are flaring, and the Soldier paces in the back of his head, a low growl thrumming in his chest. _She's lying, _the Soldier hisses, and a white flash of fangs. _You can't bring her. _

"I may be," Rosten accepts his venomous protest with ease. "And it's understandable why you're suspicious. But once you, and your team, hear what I have to say—you'll believe me." She turns fully, and with the gun still in her hand, she takes my metal one and slips the gun into my fingers. "I want to take him down."

Bucky chooses that moment to wipe the blood off his tac knife on his pants. "Why should I believe you?"

"These men," Rosten says after a pause. "Were here because Zola thinks I'm a threat. Because _my father _thinks I'm a threat."

"You expect me to believe you want to kill your own father?" Bucky challenges, plays with his knife a bit more. It doesn't faze her, and he's not surprised. 

"No, I expect you to believe a girl wants to avenge her mother's death."

Bucky narrows his eyes, and really, he already knows what he's going to do and the Soldier grunts in displeasure. "Well. We've already bonded over daddy issues. Maybe it's time for the whole dysfunctional family group therapy."

Rosten's mouth curls up into a pleased smile, and it looks eerily similar to the way Nat smirks after a neat little headshot. "Then lead the way, Barnes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please oh my, please kudos and comment.  
But really, comment.  
Can't wait to see what you guys think, and I PROMISE, Stuckony is really really fucking near.  
Sorry for the late update :(


	13. Chapter 13

Tony is on his side, arms curled under his head and his knees pulled up to his chest, in a fetal position. It says something, he thinks, that even in his nightmares he's trying to protect himself, from whatever unknown danger is lurking in the dark. 

He's not shivering, which is strange, because it feels like he's lying in cold, icy water. It's an inch to his elbow, freezing and _oppressive _in its silence, but it's water and Tony tries to convince himself it's just _water. _

_And no one's afraid of water, right?_

If this is somehow a twisted version of a wet dream, he really needs to evaluate his sexual desires. Because hey, don't they say that dreams are your body's way of expressing some subconscious thought or want? 

Maybe it's sleep paralysis. But that would involve actually being awake. 

And he doesn't _know_ if he's awake, or in some trippy version of Inception. 

The floor feels hard beneath his skin, slate and metal like the kind they put cadavers on in the hospital, which is not that great of a comparison to make when you're alone and everything is pitch black, and the only sound you can hear is the _drip drip drip _of water. Where's it even dripping from? There are so many glitches in this dream.

_If I'm going to have a nightmare, _he thinks with increasing anxiety, _at least make it a good show. _

He can't move, which he finds out the hard way in the beginning, so all he can do is lay there, telling himself to keep breathing, trying not to swallow his own tongue from the terror of being paralyzed. Which is really easy to do, by the way, swallowing one's own tongue in a fit of terror is probably America's third leading cause of death. 

It really isn't good for him, alone in the dark like this, because when Tony's left with his brain alone for too long, it starts to make horrible decisions. 

Like imagining how the Middle Ages invented so much torture they probably had a torture guy—Torture Master—and probably, in a race to create the most agonizing, fear-inducing torture technique for street creds, must have created something like 'The One Where Your Tongue is Pulled Out by Metal (wood? Because Middle Ages?) Tweezers' when really they could have just stuck their poor prisoners in a room similar to the one where Tony is currently passing away in and hope they swallow their own tongues which he kind of, God forbid, feels himself _doing_—

_God, please let me wake up. _

_I promise I'll never step on ants again. I'll start recycling. Save the turtles. I'll save all of them. I'll stop jaywalking. _

_I'll eat all my fucking vegetables. _

_Just, just please let me wake up. I can't stand this. _

Tony bites the inside of his mouth, willing his throat to work so at least he can scream his frustrations. A truly healthy coping mechanism, his brain supplies dryly. 

Then he closes his eyes, opens them, and his mouth opens in a shriek that catches in his throat, does something scared and twisted in his chest that leaves his heart in ropes because Tony's staring right into his mother's face. 

His mother is laying right opposite, and looking straight back at him. 

"Ciao, piccola." His mother whispers, smiling.

And Tony's transported back to when he was three years old, playing with his toys on the lavish Prussian carpet on the wooden floors, next to the crackling fireplace. His mother sits in the corner, on her favorite leather armchair, alone (because Howard never bothered to show his face and was probably drinking somewhere) sipping a white martini with three olives, exuding the sophisticated air Tony had become so accustomed to from even such a young age. On her graceful, porcelain neck rests opaque, irregularly large pearls that on many occasions Tony has sneaked out to play with. The room is dimly lit, classical music trailing the air to the scent of roasted pinewood, and Tony remembers a row of pictures on the fireplace, of his mother and father together, smiling in a way he hasn't seen in so long with their arms entangled and hands entwined. Of his father, posturing in the same confident, neat, stiff way he does in front of cameras and baring his teeth in the glimmer of a handsome smile.

He has his arm around a woman, and she looks almost military in her strong, sharp stance. She's almost the same age as his mother, and she has sleek dark brown hair (just like his mother), brilliant hazel eyes that seem to pierce into the photo (it looks familiar). Her ruby red lips are upturned into a small, knowing smirk, like she's enjoying some private joke with the camera in some parody of breaking into the fifth wall that Tony has never been privy to. 

His mother never, ever, speaks of that picture. 

In fact, most of the pictures on the fireplace are layered in a fine coat of dust, proof that no one has touched them for months—or maybe even years.

Maria Stark would bake at night, when most of the house (by that he means the house staff, because that's who lived there. Not him, not his mother, and definitely not Howard. It wasn't _home._) was sound asleep. She would be boiling a pot of hot chocolate, Tony's favorite, as if she knew that soon her son would creep downstairs in exhaustion, unable to sleep but unable to stay still in his bed. _Chronic insomnia's a bitch_, Tony thinks to himself. 

It crippled him then and it crippled him now. 

Then his mother would give him a gentle smile over the counter, hand over the mug of hot chocolate (before it turned into whisky somewhere before his seventeenth birthday) placing her martini on the table and beginning to hum an Italian lullaby, reaching forward for her son. Tony remembers stumbling to his mother with unsure, clambering steps, and her hands are always outstretched, _always_ there to catch him. 

"Mamma? Mi sei mancato," Tony whispers back, flashing back to the present, and he can feel his eyes welling with unshed tears and he can't stop shaking. So he looks to his mother, listens to her soft breathing, tries to yearn for some comfort that this is, in fact, _real. _

"Mom," he says again, panicked. He knows it's a dream, he knows it. But his eyes are tricking him, deluding himself to the image of Maria Stark and everything he's pined for in a decade, and he can't bring himself to _stop. _His brain is lying to himself, dastardly convincing, and he can't_ stop it_. _Fuck. _"Mom, I miss you so much," Tony gasps, like he can't get enough breath in his lungs to make it one more second. "Mom—why'd you...why'd you _leave_ me? Why'd—"

And he chokes on his own words and his breath shudders along with his whole body, fracturing his heart into a million shards because his mother's _there, _and the last time he was this close to Maria Stark was on her deathbed when she was frail and sick, and he was barely seventeen, young and _terrified _of going on in a world without his mother (she'd been his anchor), and she couldn't breathe without coughing, and when she took her last, agonized breath, some part of him had died. 

He reaches for her, blindly in the darkness as his fingertips tremble with the ache to _touch,_ and _feel _the presence of his mother, and that phantom piece of himself he had lost alongside Maria Stark. 

Maria Stark looks lovely as she has ever been in her prime. Her silky dark brown locks are reminiscent of Tony, and her large doe-eyes are mirrored in the face of her son. She smells of freshly minted peonies blooming in the summertime, and it's been _years _since Tony's smelled that scent. 

_Mamma always did love summer, _Tony thinks in wonder and he smiles a smile full of heartbreak, of love, as her hand folds into his outstretched one and Tony nearly chokes from the wave of emotions that seem to well in his throat. He's crying now, the tears rushing down his cheeks, leaving sticky, hot trails that burn with shame and burn with _fear. _

_Don't let this end, _he pleads to whatever gracious entity is watching over him and his mother. _Please don't take her away from me again. _

"My son," and her breath is long, cool and soft as it winds over his shoulders, trailing itself around his neck and encasing him in a comforting warmth that seems to calm his bursting heart. It's unreal. _Please let this be real._ Tony stares unblinkingly at his mother as her smile turns bittersweet and she says, "Tony, be careful, il mio bambino."

She reaches out and the moment her fingertips touch his cheek, caressing his skin in the loving, tender ways mothers hold their newborn babes, a swirling cloud made of _black_ rears directly behind her, looming in its awful entity and Tony shouts, tries to warn her but it envelopes itself rapidly over her prone body, enfolding her in a wave of inky blackness that swarms from her feet until it's up to her neck and Tony screams, and this time he can hear himself and it's _loud _and it's _raw. _

_"Tony!"_ and it's the worst sound he's ever heard, because she _screams_ for him. 

Maria Stark's brown eyes are wide, and her mouth is opened frantically as the waves of blackness crawl their way up her chin, her cheek, and Tony screams again in desperation of _no, no, no, not this again_, wildly scrabbling to get closer to his mother. 

_But he can't move. _

Tony can only watch, numb to the point where he can't even feel his feet, as the blackness fills Maria Stark's mouth and floods over her face, until he can't see his mother anymore and she disappears from him for the second time, and he's too late to save her. 

And then he wakes up. 

It's a rude awakening, one that leaves him in a trembling, stupefied mess. Tony gasps, eyes snapping open, blinking wildly as he tries to regain his footing as the hazy impressions around him begin to fit into focus, and the world that's spinning out of control around him fades away to the corners of his whitening vision. 

He's left staring up at the white hospital ceiling, and the loss of his mother all over _again_ is still so heavy it clings to him like a shadow, like something he won't ever shake off. His heart is beating chaotically in his chest, and it's just now Tony realizes how much he's been sweating, as he stares desperately around the room, searching, searching for something already long gone. The panic that had seemed so overwhelming before ebbs down reluctantly, as if its his body's way of apologizing to him. 

"Tony?" Clint says in amazement, and his voice sounds faraway and faint but his hold on Tony's hand tightens, and that's what brings him back. "Tony? Buddy? You with me?"

_I'm awake. _

_I could be dead. _

He gasps at the thought, stark and deadpan as the memories come into focus. The attempt on his life—or violent assault—in the bathroom. The cruel laughter that suffocated the air as the man who attacked him drove fists into his body, into his ribs. His head slamming into the marble floors with a sickening thud. Happy's desperate struggle to revive him, staunch the bleeding, his pale face. Tony hesitantly reaches up to the back of his head, fingers shaking, and feels nothing but tender skin, nothing at all compared to the damage he had felt there before, thick blood pooling underneath his head. _No blood, _his brain reassures him as his hands trail to his ribs, and he winces at how _tender _the bruises are, contusions of black and blue splotching over his skin. 

"_Tony_," Clint says, regaining his attention. His friend sounds _wrecked, _and he's not looking much better. There's rings of lilac around his eyes, proof of sleepless nights, and his hair mussed as Tony's ever seen it. "God, you're _okay._" And then Clint barrels forward and envelopes him in a hug that rattles his bones, and Tony tenses for a split second before relaxing into the hold. "I was so scared," Clint mumbles, hazel eyes cloudy with exhaustion. "They said you'd be okay but—" and he chokes off, shaking his head. 

"I-I'm okay," Tony manages to force out, and Clint just blinks at him sadly, his hold on Tony's hand turning tight. It's a testament to just how worried he was for Tony. 

Tony's blurred all over, struggling to make sense of _now. _His heart in his throat, Tony can't seem to stop trembling all over. _Mamma, _he thinks desperately, and then tries not to let Clint see the tears in his eyes as he remembers his dream, which seems like an awful, miserable eternity ago. "Y-yeah, yeah, I'm—" _God. _His throat feels parched, quenched dry, and Tony arches his back to sit up, trying to find some semblance of comfort in this hospital bed. 

_It's okay,_ he consoles himself, scrunching his shaking hand into a fist. _It's just a nightmare. You've had tons of those. You're okay. Just a nightmare. _

"It's been three days," Clint remarks softly, eyes pinched in wariness like he thinks Tony will throw a fit or panic at how long it's been. How they've stayed for a week now, with Steve and Bucky, and how dangerously innocent the 'adventure' had begun, and now it's different. 

Tony sucks in a breath, and tries to soothe his distressed mind. The dream, no matter how gripping it is, is forced to the back of his mind. Because Tony's had more than enough practice with keeping what's killing him on the inside, _far far away inside. _

Clint shuffles closer, concerned, waiting for Tony to get his shit together.

Then Clint squints at him with faint disdain and hands him a cup of water, changing tactics to exclaim airily, "You smell like shit, y'know." And he smiles a watery smile, like he's trying to offer Tony some comfort to ignore or mask the fact their little 'adventure' is now irreversibly _fucked. _

Tony laughs, and the dream fades away to lurk at the back of his mind and he blinks thankfully at his friend. The two identical Clint faces he's been seeing merges into one, and Tony uses it to distract himself._Thank God. No one wants to see that. _He takes the cup of water from Clint and sips it gingerly, blinking blearily at him, who makes a face to cement his point. 

"I smell like shit?" Tony says, downs the rest of the cup with a slight wince as the cool water works its way down his sore throat and into his bruised lungs. "Well you _look _how I feel, birdbrain."

Clint conjures up a laugh that's a little strangled, but that's okay. They're both recovering. "You need a shower. Like, seriously. You stink to the high heavens."

"Hey asshole, been too _unconscious _to shower, sorry." Tony rasps indignantly, and tries to raise a hand, only to find there are tubes connected to it. _Ew._ There in the flesh of his forearm is an IV, feeding him a constant supply of liquid, which is running from a bag hooked on a steel hanger. Bravely, he grasps the tube, feeling the adhesive pull on his skin, and as he tugs harder, the whole thing pulls free with a bit of blood and a spurt of a clear, sticky fluid. 

"I don't know if you're supposed to do that," Clint tells him in a mildly judgmental tone, eyeing the fallen tube with something akin to disapproval and takes the empty cup of water, setting it on the floor. 

Tony wrinkles his nose, rubs the puncture on his forearm. "I hate hospitals," he grumbles, shooting a suspicious glance at the door. "Three days, huh."

"Three days."

Then he properly notices his friend. 

"Clinton, did you grow a _beard _while I was down?" Tony says after a long, careful pause, eyes wide as he takes in his friend's comical appearance. Clint reels back like he's been slapped, and promptly turns a little bit red and Tony _guffaws, _staring at Clint because this is _wild. _"Everytime I walked into the cafe with something even _remotely _resembling a beard, you give me shit for it. And now you _grow _one? Clint!" 

Tony takes another look at Clint, laughs because he can't help himself, then instantly regrets it. He splutters at the stab of sharp pain in his ribs and presses a hand to it, raising his eyebrows expectantly. 

Clint's left eye twitches, betraying his stress. "It's not a fucking beard, Tony, it's..._stubbles."_

"Stubbles." Tony repeats, dumbfounded. 

"Yeah, Tony, _stubbles," _Clint complains, voice pitching in a whine. 

Tony laughs some more, then coughs as his lungs heave painfully. "Like hell it is. Let it grow a couple more millimeters, and they could be in the Museum of Wolverine's Totally-Not-Sideburns Sideburns." 

"They're _stubbles. _I haven't had time to shave."

"Honeybuns, you don't have anything _but _time."

"God, you're such a bitch after your beauty sleep."

Tony gasps in mock despair, eyes twinkling. "That would imply I need it, Legolas."

Clint scoffs, takes the fallen tube and pokes him with it, and Tony yelps as a little more sticky fluid trickles out. "Beauty sleep wouldn't work. You would need Plastic Surgery to even come close to fixing," and Clint makes an especially offensive open-handed gesture at Tony that translates to _that._

"I'm a sick man, and I'll be filing a complaint of harassment." Tony declares, making a theatrical show of looking for a nurse button that'll call one in. 

Clint snorts, leans in extra close and whispers, "Harassment would actually require me putting in the effort to pay attention to you." 

"You would know your fair share about harassment complaints, wouldn't you?" Tony says deftly, smirking in victory as Clint's eyes narrow (a sure sign _he's_ winning) and then breathes out slowly, because _damn, _his body's starting to hurt.

He doesn't have to look at himself to know that there are bruises mostly around his ribs and chest_, _and bandages wrapped around the worst parts. There's gauze wrapped around his head, but miraculously it doesn't hurt. His back is sore, and his chest is sore, and Tony wants to curl up and revert back to a fetus if it means it'll get rid of all of these uncomfortable pricks his body keeps making in protest anytime he moves. 

Clint quiets down too, and they just end up staring at each other in the midst of some awkward yet comfortable silence that Tony will feel the need to end soon. 

"I'm glad you're okay," Clint says softly and there's a spark of guilt in his hazel eyes. "You really had me worried there, Tones. Thought you weren't gonna make it out in one piece."

Clint never lets himself be vulnerable, and it completely melts Tony's heart to see his friend this way, so he takes one of Clint's hands and at first it hovers in mid-air, and Tony's right eye twitches. 

_Fuck me. Not good with this feelings shit, _Tony thinks rapidly, and decides to say, "Parts of me don't feel too good, but I am decidedly whole. Which is nice, considering I failed second grade math. I'm alright. Who's gonna keep you busy and making your life hell if I'm not there, right? You're my coffee-machine. I'll always come back."

And because it's all he can do, and for a second he hates this feeling of helplessness, Tony squeezes Clint's hand firmly in comfort.

"Beaten up, nearly died, only you can not freak out about that." Clint cracks a smile and clears his throat, and tries to brush the sentimentality off. He offhandedly comments, "And you _do_ have an unhealthy attachment to all things coffee."

"I really do. One could call it an addiction." Tony admits, shooting Clint a sheepish glance.

"Tony, that's exactly what it's called, you cocky little shit."

They grin at each other, big, stupid smiles and Tony tips his head, tries to lure the conversation away to something that's been bothering him since the moment he woke up. "So..." he begins, clicking his jaw uncomfortably. Clint watches him, apprehensive, as Tony continues, "Where's Bucky, and Steve? I know they're—" and he flushes, at how he must sound like, and it's the one thing he hates most about himself. 

Tony closes his eyes, can almost hear his father breathing, the tang of smoke and cigar heavy on his breath. Howard always said, Starks were lone wolves. Independent creatures, made of steel and iron and destined to roam alone. 

So why does he feel like an abandoned pup?

He's only a troublesome, weak civilian Bucky had the bad luck to encounter and be saddled with. He's a _burden, _and Steve and Bucky have no duty whatsoever to remain by his side, and so Tony tells himself that from now on he'll stay out of the way, try to stay alive with Clint, and then go home. If they make it that far. The guilt weighs in his throat, heavy and prickly. "I know they must be busy...but—"

"What's going on?" Clint fills in for him, eyes knowing. Tony falls silent, nodding, eyes falling to the white duvets wrapped around his torso. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Tony breathes out, and says as neutrally as he can, "I remember some dickhead beating the shit out of me, and I literally don't know what happened next. Passed out? And then, I assume, was brought here to recover?"

"Basically the gist of it," Clint surmises with a helpless shrug. "Yeah. I was called down as soon as you were admitted, Nat—I mean Natasha," he fumbles, eyes flashing. "_Natasha _got me down here, and well, it was really bad...Like I said. I was worried you wouldn't make it out in one piece."

"Just some bruised ribs," Tony supplies weakly, and coughs. "Nothing too much," he finishes and tries to grin. Clint returns the grin hesitantly, but Tony can see the weight of the situation in the back of his friend's eyes.

"You know," Clint begins slowly, the way he does whenever he's about to make a point. "It was weird. Steve was here the whole time. He sat in that chair," and he motions to an uncomfortable, small-looking visitor's chair that's in every hospital room. "For _hours. _Natasha had to drag him away to get showers, and food... and sometimes, he wouldn't go." And at Tony's wide eyes, Clint cracks a rueful smile. "Bucky was here too. He looked stressed, worried, and he stayed here for as long as he could, but he disappeared sometimes. The guy scares me sometimes. Really fucking awkward when _I _was here, too."

_Jesus. _Tony can't believe his ears.

At the knowledge that Steve and Bucky had _stayed, _had been with him when he had been unconscious, Tony can't seem to stop the smile spreading across his face. There's some hard ridden, unfathomable sense of relief that floods through his body, crashes through his chest, makes his shoulders sag, and it's a little pathetic, he thinks in disgust, that just knowing _they _had stayed with him could make him so happy. He's never wanted anyone to suffer on his account, but hearing that they _care, _that they worried... the feeling is almost addictive in its warmth and curls of bliss. 

"Tones," Clint begins uncertainly, his voice low, like he's worried someone will overhear them. "I don't know if you've noticed but," and he gives a little sigh that gets Tony's nerves pulsing with nervous energy. "Fuck. I'm just going to be blunt. Do Steve and Bucky," and then he looks lost, searching for words. "I don't know, _like _you somehow?"

Tony stammers out a breathy laugh, hopes it's enough to conceal his shock at the question, and has to gather himself to answer. "_What? _No, Clint," and he's shaking his head firmly, _please believe me, _trying to convince _himself _at the very same time. "No, of course not. _Jesus. _No way."

"Come on, Tones," Clint offers a small smile. "You can't tell me you don't notice the way they act around you." And then he rolls his eyes heavenward, with excessive drama (or so Tony thinks) and sighs again. "Bucky flirts with you, _outrageously, _any time you're in a span of two centimeters around him. Steve, that polite, perfect bastard, he blushes like a schoolboy around you, and honestly he cares a _lot. _Even I can tell."

_Am I that obvious? _The question causes a pang in his chest at the thought of how obvious his affections for Steve and Bucky must be, those little smiles he sends them whenever they say _anything, _the nicknames he calls them affectionately and when they ask if he does it to all his friends (no) he tells them yes as flippantly as he can. He wonders if it's so obvious that _Clint's _mentioning it, and then the horror that dawns on him when he wonders if _Steve _and _Bucky _can tell the tiny, tiny, non-existent, really minuscule crush Tony's developing for them. 

"Bucky," Tony says, and winces at the way his voice comes out a little higher and stressed out than usual. _Not great for building a strong case, Tony. _"Bucky flirts with _anyone _and anything. He'll flirt with a trash can and ask for its number. He'll flirt with a rock, and probably also get a reaction out of it." Clint mumbles something that sounds like 'he doesn't flirt with _me_' and Tony ignores him, stumbling over his words to say, "Steve, Steve's just," _perfect. _"you know, _Steve. _He doesn't have a mean bone in his body. He's funny, sweet, and—"

"Oh my god," Clint interrupts, breaking into a wide beam. "You have it _so bad _for them."

Tony's jaw drops in outrage, and he glowers at his friend. "I don't. It's not possible. Fuck off. You started this, asshole."

"Alright," Clint relents, holding his hands up in the universal signal of 'I give up'. "Alright. Well, Steve's out getting a coffee right now, and Bucky is... God knows where, so I can't ask them directly." and then at Tony's distressed blabbering of _no you can't, _Clint grunts in defeat. "_Fine, _I won't. Jeez."

"Just," Tony waves his hand, takes deep breaths to get his heart rate back to normal. "Just forget it. You are poisonous to newly recovered patients." Tony adds, shooting his friend a salty look. "Anyways, you were telling me what's going on?"

Clint gives him an irritating, shit-eating smile, which is his way of saying 'no way in hell I'm going to forget this' in response to Tony's weak attempt at diverting the conversation away from Steve and Bucky's completely platonic feelings towards him.

"Well according to the doc, you had a minor concussion, some fucked up ribs, and bruises. We couldn't find the bastard who did it, or maybe they did and they're just not telling me, but basically this room," and Clint waves his hand to the door. "And this whole floor is under real-tight security. They're really pulling out all the stops in order to keep us safe. Like I couldn't even get a cup of coffee without feeling the gaze of at least four guards on my back with their rifles aimed at me. Like it's air tight. Like Katy-Perry's-plastic-bag-wouldn't-make-it-drifting-through-here tight."

Tony, in a fit of generosity, decides to look past Clint's scandalous accusation and chuckles. "How eloquent you are with words, Mr. Poe."

"Oh, sarcasm," Clint sighs. He seems to do it a lot now. "I see your brain's already recovering from that mini concussion. Shame."

"You should've told the guy who beat me up," Tony jokes lightly, settling back onto the pillows with a huff of breath. "He didn't finish the job. Shit mercenary if I ever saw one."

Clint frowns, like Tony's said something particularly offensive. "Don't say that, you idiot," he tells him tightly. "Don't even joke about it."

"It's how I deal with the shit that happens to me," Tony replies stubbornly. He can say whatever he wants about what's happened to him. "You know that."

And Clint, bless him, knows him well enough not to argue. "Do you remember anything from the attack?"

Tony licks his dry lips, his irritation bleeding away. "Not really. I remember it was a guy," he says unhelpfully. "He was dressed in all black. Nothing to mark him with, no tattoos, nothing. But he had," and Tony squints, trying to chase a snag of a memory that flits around in his head. He thinks back to the attack, to the sound the guy made when Tony tried to defend himself with the bathroom handrail. "He made this sound when I got in one hit on the back of his knee. I didn't hit him that hard," he continues, thinking intensely. "But he made this noise, pained."

"Like he'd been hurt there before?" Clint asks, hazel eyes sharp. 

"Yeah," Tony nods, suppressing the slight shiver that courses through his body at the re-living of his memories. "Exactly. I'll tell Steve when he comes back."

"Mhm," Clint finally says after a long pause, and he sounds distracted. "I didn't think we'd get hurt in this," and there's a horrible sadness to his eyes that Tony can't stand looking at, mainly because he also detects pity in there. Sadness and pity, like it's their shared fault and Clint is silently apologizing to him. "I thought we'd be okay. Three days, and done. We'd go home, go back to our shitty, hourly wage lives. And now, we've been here around a week. It's fucking crazy," he says, and shakes his head in disbelief. "It's crazy."

Tony lifts his shoulders in a half-hearted shrug. "It is," he agrees. "Two college boys, just trying to get through life in one piece, and we end up here, of all places." And he barks out a laugh, because _it's fucking crazy,_ some kind of cosmic joke where they could end up dead, or in the news, for God's sake, because Peggy Carter and her crime family is in the FBI's most wanted list. They could end up _in jail. _

_And yet he wouldn't change a thing. _

No matter good or bad, Bucky and Steve completely changed his life. 

"This is going to be one hell of a story when it's over." Clint says, and the look on his face suggests he's going to have a hell of a time telling it. 

"I pity your grandkids. I'll establish a refugee camp for them."

"Tony, you have DUM-E and U for kids. You have no standing in this argument." 

Then the door to the hospital room clicks open, and both swivel around to stare at the same time. 

It's Steve, whose mouth completely falls open (he'll deny this) and spreads into a positively radiant beam. "Tony!" And he sounds ecstatic, really, way more happy than he should be. Tony swallows stiffly, and the heat in his cheeks and chest grows, and a surge of shaky, uncertain desire going straight to places where it shouldn't, because Steve shouldn't be looking at him like that. With so much relief and admiration in his gaze, like Tony's just hung the stars and the moon for him. Steve rushes in and places the coffee haphazardly on the edge of a waiting seat where it balances itself precariously, and then to Tony's bedside, babbling ten different things at the same time. "Are you okay? I'm so happy you're awake, I was _so _worried, Tony, are you in pain?"

Clint lets out a startled squawk as the 240lb man clambers to Tony's side, and throws Steve a malevolent side-eye. "You're like a big, happy-go-lucky but gun-carrying golden retriever," he tells Steve dryly with faux malice and hurries off Tony's bed before Steve can get a swipe at him. "I'm getting a coffee." He announces, winking at Tony who gasps because what is Clint _doing, _leaving him alone with Steve in this state. Clint waves cheerfully, mouthing 'you owe me' and vanishes out the door.

_What a dick._ The blood rushes to his ears, tinged with hysteria and a whole lot of panic and suddenly Tony's paranoid if he's blushing. 

Steve is right next to him, holding one of his hands, and Tony can't deal with that dumb, stupid smile on his stupid, pretty face. He can't defend himself from it. Something inside him is blazing with glee at having the blond so close. "Tony? How are you feeling? The doctor told me he had you on some pain meds, a little morphine, so that should keep the pain away for a little while. Honestly, wasn't expecting you to wake up this soon but I'm so glad you did—"

God, he hopes he's not blushing. 

Steve is, as usual, _perfect. _Blue eyes earnest with worry, hands soft, brushing Tony's outstretched hands while his mouth moves a mile a minute, like there's not enough time and air in the world to sustain what he needs to say and Tony decides he cares _too damn much. _

Tony gazes at the blond, and he can't ignore the fluttery feeling he gets inside his chest when Steve finally pauses and stares at him expectantly. "Hey," Tony finally makes out. _Wow. Yes, Tony. Yes. Be more speechless. That'll help. _It's like every single cell of his body is frozen in place, body locked down in paralysis. 

_Why can't I catch a break?_ Tony thinks ruefully, and smiles weakly at Steve. 

Steve grins, leans closer as if to inspect Tony carefully and once satisfied, replies gently, "Hey. How're you feeling?" 

"I'm, uh, feeling okay. I'm a little stiff. A little watery. I mean I'm thirsty. Not for water, for coffee. I would like some watery coffee—Damn. No, yeah I'm fine and you don't have to worry." And Tony's flushing again, wants the ground to swallow him _whole _at how literally pathetic and schoolboy-with-a-crush he's being. He really hopes he's at least doing it well. Steve's lips are twitching like he wants to smile, and Tony's guts drop a little more in a brief moment of panic. 

"I was so worried," Steve murmurs, with a real smile on his face, born with excitement and delight at having found Tony's functioning well, like he was afraid the beating would have turned him into a vegetable. "But you must have so many questions. I'm sorry I wasn't here when you woke up," he says, disappointed and sincere and Tony's gawking at how caring and polite the guy is. It's quite unreal. With a whole planet of Steve's, he bets global warming wouldn't even be a problem. "But I, well, had a job to do."

"Well, of course," Tony says quickly, and shrugs to show how nonchalant he is. Or tries to be. "You're a mafia boss."

Steve seems to pause at the choice of words, but nods in assent anyway. "Yeah. Had some things to oversee, some people to keep in line," and he sounds meaningful laced with an ominous threat that sends a shadow over his beautiful face for a moment. "Whoever did this is going to be punished. We're in the process of tracking them down." and he continues, sounding lighter and more cheerful, blue eyes twinkling. "You must have so many questions."

"I did," Tony says, still enthralled by the _blue _of Steve's eyes. "But Clint answered them. He said, uh—" and he blushes, and Steve's looking at him like he can see everything he's trying to hide, how hard his heart is pounding. It's not, anymore, though. Tony's got it all under control. "He said," Tony repeats, treading carefully. "You were here? Like you, and Bucky visited me. You, you guys talked to me." and Steve looks relieved as Tony shoots him a crooked smile. 

"I _was _here," Steve answers, and then thankfully looks completely unaware of how lost Tony feels. "Bucky, too. We watched over you." And then adds hurriedly, "Not in a creepy way, of course, just a _protective _way, I guess. Bucky's not here now, he's out, but he'll be back soon."

"Yeah," Tony nods, and there's a pang in his heart that goes off at Bucky's mention. "Okay. Well. I'm going to confess. I lied. Didn't hear a damn thing you said, if you talked to me when I was sleeping. I'm sorry. Also, sorry to Happy if I like, messed up his bathroom floors because honestly they're pretty fucking great and I know blood can be a hassle to get off some marbles, and jeez, I remember his face, I hope he's not mad—" Tony's rambling now, and the words flood out of his mouth like they're unfiltered (which they are) like the link from his brain to his mouth is direct and there's no stopping him. 

Except there is. Because Steve leans forward in Tony's mid-ramble, and _kisses him. _

On the lips.

Tony feels the hands around his neck, soft and bracing, he tastes the hint of chocolate on Steve's lips and senses the heat that comes off both of them in waves. It's...everything Tony could have ever thought he would ever feel, rolled in one tight ball and fighting for space in his chest with his heart. A single kiss for a single second, and with Steve, it's gentle, slow, and soft. He smells like sandalwood, like crisp mint, and Tony breathes it all in, flooding his chest with a caveful of butterflies but the warmth is unmistakable, curling around Tony and enticing him to come closer. Steve is comforting, his lips are tender, achingly tender on his and it feels _lovely _and Tony's heart has actually stopped right in his chest and—

"Oh my god," Tony gasps out, yanks himself away and the full weight of it comes crashing down, his body protesting in pain as he moves too fast and too far. His ribs send a new wave of pain down his body and Tony grits his teeth against the awfulness. 

Steve pulls away, blue eyes huge with concern. "Tony," he says in a voice dripping with _want _and _need _and husky from their kiss, and _fuck, _their kiss. "Did I hurt you? Are you okay?" And he's so _caring, _so focused on Tony that it pisses him off, and it sends a new blaze of anger that Steve just doesn't see what's wrong. 

"Fuck, Steve, _Bucky._" Tony says, and the name feels venomous on his tongue, all shades of ugly torment and despair at having kissed another man's boyfriend. Bucky's. "Bucky_. _I can't. Not to him, fuck, Steve, I can't do this to him, why did _you_? Oh God—"

Bucky, sweet, brave and wonderful Bucky, who saved his life numerous times over and is Steve's boyfriend and best friend and Tony will die first before he's even touched the precious, rare love they have for each other. He won't ruin it. He can't. Until now, he's never allowed himself to even entertain the thought of touching _either _of them, he ignores the warm feeling in his chest that explodes whenever one of them are near him, and he definitely tries to shut off his brain when the two make an appearance in his dreams.

All of this must show on his face, because Steve's face softens in understanding.

He reaches for Tony, and Tony would love nothing more than to fall into his arms but he's already pulling away, gathering the blankets up, like it's some sort of protection against what he's irrefutably done. The horrible, horrible thing he's done, and his heart clenches in pain, and it's become such a constant, familiar feeling that _throbs _but doesn't_ hurt _and he feels numb to it now. 

He won't ever be able to face Bucky. 

_I deserve this. _

Steve looks appalled, and vehemently shakes his head. "Tony, it's okay, he knows, Tony, _he knows. _He wants it too." Steve is saying, desperate to convince Tony, still so careful like he's a newborn foal that will skitter at any loud noise. Steve inches closer, and his face is so open and honest Tony, for a split second, lets himself _dare _to believe those words. "Tony, he _wants it too. _He wants _you, _too."

It's quiet. Tony stares into Steve's eyes, and Steve stares right back. There's nothing in there, in his face, but sincerity, the same bold, _blue _sincerity that has always been there throughout Tony's stay. When he'd promised Tony he didn't regret taking him and Clint in, when he vowed he'd protect them. When he'd been unconscious, he'd heard Steve's low whispers, comforting and a presence he'd been somewhat aware of, but it was enough. Because Steve is _here_ now, and he doesn't have to be. 

But all this logic, that Steve _could _be telling the truth is swept to the side with the leaps Tony's brain makes. Because even if Steve _cares _even just a little bit, there's no way that's true, it doesn't even make _sense, _and Tony's mind is in full blown fix-this-shit autopilot. He doesn't want _this_ to end, doesn't want to go back home where he can't wink at Bucky and say stupid, stupid shit that gets him Bucky's beautiful, delighted lopsided smirk that does a million things to his heart, or away from Steve's cornflower blue eyes, that crinkle when he smiles and the way Steve can't stand anything happening to anyone he loves, ever, even if it means he'll have to be there to stand behind them at all times. 

_God. I don't want to go back. _

Steve frowns now, searching Tony's face for an answer he can't give. 

Bucky knows? He wants what? What does _Steve _want? 

Tony thinks about the kiss, because really, it's all he can think about.

He wants to do it again, explore Steve's lips a little more, run his hands _over—fuck,_ no. His head is spinning, literally, and Tony has to hold himself still with one hand trembling on a pillow. Steve is watching him like a hawk, worry all over his kicked puppy-dog face.

"Goddammit Steve," he croaks and rubs a hand over his face. If this is a dream, he'd better wake up _now. _"A man's gotta recover from his previous injuries before you drop a shrapnel bomb on him like that."

Steve's face crumples sharply, and then folds over in a rushing mask of neutrality and wavering calm that Tony would have believed if Steve's hands hadn't been wavering. "You don't? Oh, Tony—" and he swallows, thickly, pulling away. "I made a mistake, didn't I," and he laughs to himself, and the sound crushes Tony's heart. "I'm sorry," Steve says, and he sounds _so _sorry that Tony nearly reels. Steve's blue eyes are shroud in guilt and sadness, and he tells Tony in a quiet voice that just aches with despair, "I shouldn't have done that, of course not. I'm sorry, Tony, that was a total overstep of boundaries. I'll leave now if you want." 

Steve's already turning away, ready to walk out, and Tony doesn't know if his heart can handle that, too.

"No, wait," Tony says, barely a whisper, and hates himself for sounding so weak in that moment. It curdles his blood, makes his ears go hot, and it's everything Howard Stark would be repulsed by. "Stay. Please." 

Steve freezes, and immediately edges himself closer to Tony, till they're in breathing distance of each other. _It's not close enough._

"Tony?" Steve ventures, posture hunched. It's not a stance that is usually associated with Steve, connotes vulnerability and for him Tony's sure it's like laying down on a battlefield, weapons buried, like he _trusts _Tony not to carve him open. 

Tony pulls his knees up to his chest, in a flimsy gesture that makes him feel small. "Why'd you kiss me?" He asks, voice trembling. He violently tells his voice to stop shaking. 

"Because I've wanted to, for as long as I've met you," Steve answers honestly and spreads his palms open, face-up. "You have no idea what you do to me. When Bucky and I heard you were hurt, we..." and he shakes his head, his emotions are clear for Tony to see. The blond looks up again, blue eyes swimming with distress. "We were so _scared. _Tony," he shakes his head. "We've never felt like that for anyone else before."

Tony's hands are shaking ever so slightly, and he scrunches them into fists. "What do you mean, _we? _You and Bucky?"

Steve cracks a smile, watery and tentatively. "Yeah, Tony, me and Bucky. He's been smitten with you ever since you two met. The first sentence out from your mouth, you weren't scared. You called him 'murder muffin', and that was it for him. You should have seen him that night, the first night you were here. He said, 'this is going to be something'." He glances at Tony, and whatever he sees must appease him, because he barrels on. "And you know what? He was right. For me, it was when you woke up, and you didn't waste a _second _in letting us know you were not dealing with any bullshit we might throw your way."

"If what you're telling me is bullshit, I don't think I can survive that." Tony warns, nausea churning in his gut, and Tony has no doubt that if he doesn't resist it he'll drown in it. So he tries to relax. He really, really tries, but it's like every sense in his body is dialed up to eleven and turned specifically to Steve, who chuckles.

"Definitely not bullshit," Steve reassures with utter fondness. "I mean it. I wish Bucky were here," Steve murmurs with a pleading glance to the door. "He could explain this much better than I could."

"So, what, you like me?" Tony asks, suddenly feeling a sharp prick of something akin to _anger. _It happens sometimes, when he doesn't understand something important. So he stares at Steve, deadpan. "You don't even know me but you want to have one passion filled threesome night with me, is that it? You want, what, a fucking easy booty-call, or something? And I'm an easy target?"

Steve's eyes go wide like Tony's just slapped him. "_No. _No_,_ Tony, Christ, _no._" Steve rushes to say, shaking his head vehemently. "That's not it at all," and the hurt in his blue eyes is enough to make Tony lower his guard. "You're not _that _at all to us, you're so much _more. _I know how crazy it sounds, and how unconventional. But we know you enough to really, really like you, and enough to know we want to know you more. We want to..._keep _you." And he blushes. 

Tony tries not to let the absolutely adorable blush deter him from finding out what _exactly _is going on. 

"Keep me?" He says, and doesn't mean to sound so incredulous. 

Steve winces, and lets out a little pained sigh that Tony completely relates to. "Ah, no. Bad choice of words. But Bucky and I, we want to see if you, ah, I don't know," and there's so many tangles in his voice Tony second-hand feels the struggle. "See if you're interested? If you like us, too?" then after a frantic search for words, Steve blurts out, "We want to ask you out." 

What the _fuck _is happening. This can't be his life. 

"You're telling me, that two mobsters who are leaders of America's most wanted crime organization, want to ask _me, _a stray civilian you picked up, _out? _ On a date?"

Steve shrugs, giving him an abashed smile. "If the shoe fits," he says mildly. 

"I'll take that shoe and beat you with it, Rogers, because I... this is crazy." Tony's going for aloof, which is extremely hard to pull off whilst his heart is in the throes of seizing, but he gives it his best shot. Because no way he's going to let Mr. Perfect Blond see him have a heart attack because of his completely absurd date proposal. 

Steve gestures at the space between them. "This is really not the way I wanted you to know," and he winces, although this time in good nature. "But it's true, Tony, every word. Swear it to God. Boy Scout's honor."

"Well," Tony sniffs and shuffles his hands with mild irritation. "I believe you joined the Scouts. You're lucky I believe you, because Bucky, who I know for a fact must have been kicked out of the Boy Scouts, would not have pulled that off."

"So," Steve says and shoots Tony a sly little side glance. "You're okay with the kiss?"

_"You_ kissed me."

Steve has more self-control than he does, and merely gives a little sigh. "You kissed me _back_," he reminds Tony, voice playful but a little high-and-mighty. 

It annoys him, when Steve uses that tone—it's the kind of tone parents use with their petulant, tantrum-throwing kid, who doesn't know left from right. 

"This is crazy," Tony says again, resolving to cross his arms in a completely non-petulant way. 

Steve brushes a hand through his hair, lips twitching, but he stays silent, almost thoughtfully, and the paranoia creeps up every second because Tony keeps waiting for him to say something. _What's he thinking? What _is _he thinking, asking me out? That's just..._

"I can tell you don't believe me just yet," Steve says finally, blue eyes resolute. "But I'll show you. Bucky and I will show you, just how much we want you."

Tony clears his throat, draws up the blankets with forced-to-be-still hands, and draws in a breath. _Time to be brave, _he tells himself. "Steve, you have no idea how you and Bucky make me feel." Steve looks delighted. Tony rushes on, because if he doesn't he'll never say it aloud.

"When I see you and Bucky, my palms get all warm and sweaty. I feel nervous, in ways I haven't ever felt before, and God _knows _how often I've come close to the idea of kissing either of you. But I can't. Because you two," and his voice cracks a little bit, and Tony raises his eyes to the ceiling because he can't trust himself to look at Steve. "Because you two, what you have is so _good. _It's precious, it's rare, it's so fucking special, and...

"I would ruin it." Tony says, raw and unhinged. And there it is. 

It's years of his self-loathing, deprecation, and hate all piled into one basket. He holds his breath, not daring to look at Steve because now Steve knows the truth. It's true. Tony is a mess, he's a mess in his relationships. He's always fucked it up, one after another. Steve and Bucky don't deserve that from him. God, they deserve the best. Each other. 

_They... they're too good for him. _

He tries to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut, the shame burning in his cheeks at having admitted it, and the yawning emptiness that has suddenly engorged itself in his chest and is trying to swallow Tony whole. 

He feels like he's lost something, which is _stupid. _

Because it's not like he ever had it to begin with, right?

Steve's fingers are soft, and they smell like rose petals (which really should be illegal for men like Steve) when they touch Tony's face. "Tony," Steve says, and he sounds slightly amazed. "There is more chance of my Aunt Peggy dressing up with those poor women in that infernal show 'Dance Moms' in a slutty, leopard-printed leotard that they like to terrify their viewers with than _you _ruining a relationship. Especially a relationship between Bucky and I." And he's smiling, blond hair falling over into his face.

"You haven't the slightest idea how far my destructive tendencies go," Tony says, rushing to convince Steve why dating him is a really bad idea. "The 'T' in my name stands for toxic. I can't sleep at night. I work on my robots and will probably forget you even exist, I drink their poisonous smoothies where DUMM-E pretends fruits are only suggestions, and I play AC/DC to the point where my neighbors move out. I'm unbearable before my morning coffee, and I don't share it, you're gonna have to wrestle for your coffee.

"I'll forget what you're allergic to, and then attempt to feed it to you. I break things, almost fanatically, and I'm just a terrible boyfriend in general. I'll forget your birthday, you can't hand me things, and I really can't stand it when people leave me because of abandonment issues and I'm scared I'll die alone—"

And for the second time in that afternoon, Steve kisses him.

"I'm beginning to think this is the only way to shut that genius brain of yours up," Steve murmurs against his mouth, and snakes his hands up into Tony's hair, and the kiss is messy, open-mouthed and desperate. Tony falls back into the pillow and Steve follows, kissing his lips, then his neck, then brushing his lips over Tony's stubbled cheek. 

Tony can't catch his breath by the end of it. "That's cheating," he says, breathily. 

"Tony," Steve says, taking his hands like a sap. "I know you've probably already closed your mind off to what could be. But I haven't, and I know Bucky won't either. Please, if there's even a chance it could work, don't you want to try?" 

Tony narrows his eyes, trying to clamp down on the happiness in his chest that just explodes from having Steve in such close proximity, right after their kiss. Steve's kiss. "Your puppy-eyes are manipulative."

"You're deflecting." Steve replies, smiling cornily. 

"It won't work, Steve." Tony says, as firmly as he can, because he won't give in. It's the best for everyone, even if it means he'll end up back in his tiny MIT dorm room, spending the rest of his days trying to forget Steve and Bucky. "I can't see why you think it'll work."

There's a little sparkle in Steve's blue eyes. "Because I'm a romantic at heart, old-fashioned that way, you see, and I'm a firm believer in if you like it, put a ring on it."

"A marriage proposal in the same day? Aww, snookums, I'm swooning." 

"I want you to give us a chance, Tony." Steve announces, his shoulders snapping in a straight line that translates to '_mission mode: I must complete.' _"You don't have to say yes. Just say you'll give us a chance. There's no harm in trying, right? "

And against his better judgement, and his whole brain screaming _no, _Tony makes a bad decision. "Alright," he says thoughtfully. "Destructive tendencies be damned. I'll give you a chance."

Steve's whole face breaks into an overjoyed grin. _He really _is _just a giant, trigger-happy golden retriever, _Tony thinks in realization. 

"This is serious, right? Because if this is some shitty joke, I fear I might die a brokenhearted man." Tony says, because he needs Steve to reassure him that this isn't, in fact, some massive cosmic joke the universe is playing on him. 

"Tony. Will you stop with that? Do I look like the kind of man who jokes about datin' a fella?" Steve intones with a raise of his eyebrows.

"No, but then you don't look like the kind of man who goes around kissing men who aren't his boyfriend." Tony grimaces the second the words leave his mouth, and he raises his eyes to glance at Steve, dread thudding in his chest, and opens his mouth to apologize. _Wow, Tony, at it again huh! Only three minutes into this, and already destroying it. _

But, miraculously, Steve just laughs. "Then I guess you're just extraordinarily special, Tony. Because when my boyfriend hears about the amazing, wonderful man I kissed today, he's going to keel over. From jealousy. Because I got there first."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay well I'm amping up the stuckony! Fluff, angst, incoming. I hope you guys enjoyed this and as you well know, comments and kudos are what keep this fic alive! I'd love to hear what you guys think.


	14. Chapter 14

Steve is fairly certain Bucky is going to try and kill him. Granted, this isn't exactly shocking or all that uncommon if you take a look at their jobs, because if you can't base off a relationship on this level of comfort, what do you have? But it's not a far stretch, because what he told Tony was _true. _When Bucky hears about how _he _kissed Tony first, Bucky's well... Steve better have Natasha near by just in case. It's not like he's scared of telling his boyfriend. No, not at all. He's just putting in precautions. It's what a good leader does.

He's spent almost the entire day with Tony, either on the floor where they've actually concocted this impressive pillow fort of comfy thick blankets and a few pillows he'd sent some agents to get, or partially on Tony's bed. It's a comical sight, seeing stony eyed, muscular men march into Tony's room armed with three huge soft pillows. Steve had taken in his sketch book, and begun to pass the time in the room with Tony, where they had talked for more than hours. And then Tony had fallen asleep, because he was still recovering, and then Steve had left to go find some refreshments and hopefully take a nice shower before returning to Tony's room. 

And now that he's showered, smelling like fresh coconut (okay, fine, he loves the smell of coconut bodywash. Is it a crime?) he stops first at the coffee machine to get a cappuccino. 

And ้his phone vibrates, and Steve flashes the screen to peer at the incoming text message.

_I'm on my way up, where are you? _

Bucky's coming. 

Bucky, who he's barely seen for three whole days. He comes for a quick shower, and eats, and then sometimes he stays in Tony's room just to check on his progress but then he mysteriously disappears for hours on end. Steve doesn't know what to think of it—because whatever's happened, Bucky always tells him everything, unless it's something to do with their jobs then that's debatable. Steve does it too. They're best friends, partners. They've never kept secrets from each other. So, Steve tells himself not to worry, when Bucky vanishes after lunch, comes home when it's nearly dark, and resolves to trust Bucky to tell him whatever it is he's been so occupied doing when he's ready. 

But that doesn't mean he's not curious about Bucky's whereabouts. 

The other day, he'd almost checked whether Bucky already had an assignment from Peggy, or if he was following up leads, but had sharply stopped himself because he should just trust Bucky, right? Bucky's probably following up leads. He'd gone to Carlston a couple days ago, to ask about the Rogues and the warehouse incident, and Bucky had showed him the slip of paper with the name _Niki Rosten _scrawled upon it. But then Bucky had gone silent the day Tony had been admitted into the medical ward, and Steve had assumed it was because it was a dead end.

The elevator doors to his left slides open, and in strides Bucky, who immediately washes away all of his thoughts. Now, Steve's just excited to see his boyfriend and tell him the wonderful news. The brunet pauses, looking around, and once his eyes settle on Steve, a grin spreads over his face. Bucky looks tired around the edges, subtle dark circles underneath his eyes, and with one simple glance Steve can tell the he's been working. His gait is slower than usual, feet dragging behind the other. A prick of worry stabs his heart at the sight, mostly because he has no context for _why, _but this is not the time to interrogate Bucky so Steve moves forward to welcome his boyfriend into his arms and they stand in the hallway, relaxing in the familiar comfort of each other's presence and in the warmth and heat. 

"Buck," he breathes, smiling into Bucky's shoulder, relishing in the musky scent of citrus and rose. "Where've you been? It's almost dinner time."

Bucky pulls back a little, after pressing a soft kiss on Steve's lips. "Just work," he says, apologetically. There's a little flash of guilt on his face that Steve notices, but just barely, and he stores that information away for later in his head. "I know, I haven't been around much. I'm sorry, sweetheart," and it sends a little thrill of happiness through Steve when Bucky leans forward to give him one more kiss. "How's Tony?" he asks, looking past Steve to the closed door, giving Steve's shoulder a squeeze. 

"He's recovering," Steve answers, following his gaze. Bucky's shoulders relax, and Steve rubs his back in solace. "He's really getting better. Happy's been a little anxious, but he seems eager for Tony to come back. That's a good sign, hm?" Happy, Tony's mechanical engineering mentor at the compound, the one who had found Tony after the attack, had developed a surprising bond with the younger brunet. It certainly isn't an unwelcome sight, even if surprising. Steve isn't going to discourage that, as he doesn't see any harm in Tony being able to do what he loves for as long as he stays. Happy appreciates the help as well. A small part of Steve is delighted at how well Tony and Clint seem to be fitting into everything, which is worrying but with all that's happened Steve hasn't properly addressed his feelings about wanting Tony to stay. 

The mere thought of Tony staying, of them building something special, something _real..._ Steve shivers, and forces himself to focus on Bucky, who nods and then flicks his eyes to Steve inquisitively. To anyone else, it would be unnerving how fast and accurate Bucky seems to be able to read anyone, but to Steve it's almost second-nature that Bucky knows him so well. "You seem chipper," he says, canting his head in an invitation. "Did something happen today?"

Then in a rush, because he can't contain it anymore, Steve beams. "I kissed Tony today, Buck," and he can't keep the excitement in, spilling over into his words and his face and Steve's taking Bucky's hands. "It was," and he trails off, grinning stupidly. _God, I know I look stupid, _he thinks, but it's exactly what Tony does to him. "It was _incredible._"

And that earns him a sharp, moment of pause, and Bucky breaks away from him to look at Steve with wide blue eyes swimming with shock and _hope_. Bucky squints at him, like he's expecting Steve to say _pysch _and have all of this be one ill executed joke. Then at Steve's affirmative nod, Bucky's eyes grow even bigger and he steps away from Steve, pointing a shaky finger at him that's meant to be life threatening (which it usually is) but comes off looking fragile and weak instead.

"Okay," Bucky says, voice strung out with disbelief. "What kind of sick joke is this, punk? Look, I told you that if you're gonna joke about—"

"I kissed him." Steve repeats, feeling himself vibrate with practically uncontrolled delight. "And then I asked him out. For both of us. Asked him to give us a chance to woo him real nice, and then hopefully date him proper. And he said _yes, _Buck, he said yes. At first he didn't, was real shy, but then with you here now he can't say no."

"Oh my—" And Bucky laughs, and it's like music, clear and full of vibrant emotion. All of a sudden he leaps forward, pulling Steve against him, shaking with unadulterated _relief _and _joy _and Steve has no doubt if any of the family (Erik would have a field day undermining him) or their agents saw them like this, it would strip all authority and power they hold. He usually has excellent composure, but it's _Bucky _and while he knows it's simply undignified for the leader of a crime family to be jumping around like jubilant children on Christmas morning, right now, it's the farthest thing in Steve's mind. 

And he just doesn't care. 

Steve pulls away, radiating happiness, and bouncing all over the place, and then a second later Bucky's yanking him back and kissing him deeply, chuckling in feverish celebration. "So we get to date him now? How'd you do it, Stevie? I would never have guessed you'd make the first move." Bucky mumbles against his mouth, then looks at him thoughtfully, his blue eyes flashing like a thought just occurred to him. "_Wait, _you got to kiss him first!" and then without waiting for Steve's reply because the wince is tell enough, Bucky gasps in despair and lightly pushes him away. "You little bastard, we made a _pact _we would do it together! At the _same time! _Or not at all! What reason do you have for breaking the bond of the highest level, a pinky swear_?"_

Steve's mouth falls open, and the words he'd rehearsed in his head to placate Bucky falls away, dangling at the edge of his fingertips. He takes Bucky's hands and rubs them soothingly in a haste to remedy the situation. "Yes, I'm aware. But it doesn't matter! It's Tony, Buck," Steve says, shrugging helplessly. "What else could I do? If I hadn't kissed him, maybe I wouldn't have gotten him to agree to give us a chance—"

"Oh, playing the righteous card," Bucky narrows his eyes in mock betrayal and pokes at Steve's chest with his metal finger. "You broke the code. Now if I kiss Tony, it's going to be all _'shit, I bet Steve kissed him here, there, and probably everywhere'_ and I'm going to see your stupid, punk face taunting me. Like when Neil Armstrong claimed the moon in the ultimate power move. Like, no one even _knows _the name of the second guy who went on the moon after, right? God," and he looks away, running a hand through his unruly dark brown hair in a gesture of exasperation. "You need to be punished," and there's a wicked smile Steve knows all too well curling on his lips, and Bucky's shooting him a truly sinful smirk promising a whole lot of immoral deeds. With dread growing in his gut, Steve stares right back. "You treacherous punk. You need to ask for _penance."_

"Come on, Buck," Steve pleads beseechingly and tries to pin his boyfriend with wide blue eyes that he knows Bucky is a sucker for. "You can still make it special. It's not like Tony will only like _my _kisses. You're a great kisser too, baby—"

And then he winces sharply, and Bucky's pale blue eyes zero in on Steve like a famished tiger spotting a deer through the undergrowth. "Kisses? _Plural?" _And Bucky's voice is rising higher in pitch, and his mouth opens in something like shock and confusion and Steve wants to outright _laugh _at the grudging respect he sees in Bucky's face. "You kissed him more than once?"

"Yeah," and Steve doesn't usually feel embarrassed and ashamed (not that he's ashamed of kissing Tony, never that) but he is resolute to prove to Bucky it doesn't matter that he got to kiss Tony first. It's not like it's a race, and if it is, they both win, right? The endgame is what matters, after all. "The second time wasn't planned. It was purely circumstantial. He was babbling, and if I let him go on, well, he's the smartest person here, Buck. He'd have outflanked me at some point in the argument. Found some weird loophole in what I was saying and use it against me. But he didn't, and I ended up getting us our chance, didn't I?" he adds, inching forward carefully and securing Bucky's face in his hands, searching his pale blue eyes, smiling. "Don't be jealous. It's not like Tony has a kissing quota on us."

"Kissing quota," Bucky sniffs and gives a little huff that Steve finds endearingly adorable. "What a riot you are, Rogers." The grumble that follows after _is _heartbreaking, and Steve gets all up in Bucky's space and kisses him. Bucky relents, and then Steve gives a surprised yelp at the sharp nick of Bucky's teeth. 

"Are you sulking, sweetheart?" Steve asks, laughing as he pulls back. Bucky won't meet his eyes, but Steve's pretty sure it's a ploy to get him to nag at him. "I'm sorry." 

Then Bucky sighs, rolling his eyes heavenward. "There you go again, using your seductively good looks and puppy eyes to get what you want. Really manipulative, Steve. Really below you. Ma told me about guys like you. But... no. I'm not mad," and he raises an eyebrow at Steve's relieved, happy grin. 

"Manipulative, _me?" _Steve says, pretending to be aghast, blinking innocently at his boyfriend. "Why, that's preposterous. I'm an honest man, if anything. And I'm pretty sure your ma told you about _girls _like that, not men," and he laughs at Bucky's hostile attempt at a pout. 

"America's symbol of shining decency," Bucky returns with a haughty tip of his head. "My ma would be horrified at the man you've become."

"Your ma loves me," Steve interjects firmly, because it's a fact whenever they go back to Bucky's Brooklyn house his Ma always gives Steve the first slice of the pie. It's an honor, and Steve adores Winnifred Barnes. "Am I forgiven, then?" Steve murmurs, nosing into Bucky's neck and giving it a little nip. Steve is thrilled, ecstatic, even, still floating from the high of Tony's acceptance and their _kiss_ and he doesn't think of how _worrying _it should be that even at this point in the beginning of whatever romance is budding inbetween Steve, Bucky and Tony himself, it's _this _strong and passionate. It's _this _all-consuming, filling him with uncharged energy, wild and unrestrained. He doesn't think about how far in he and Bucky already are, how deep they're already in. 

"Yeah, fine. I can't stay mad at you for long anyways," Bucky says with a reluctant sigh that suggests he's more than ready to bury the hatchet, mostly because Steve notes with a burst of laughter that his boyfriend's pale blue eyes are already straying towards Tony's closed door. And then he shoots Steve a withering stare that are, by no means, threatening. "I'm withholding sex, though. And butt slaps. Anything devious. Until I get a kiss from Tony."

Steve chuckles, and cocks his eyebrows up in response. "Well. Consider me wounded."

Bucky gasps, and narrows his eyes in sharp protest. "Are you saying that you don't mind me withholding sex?" And there's humor around his eyes, playful and light, and it's a well versed game they've choreographed well over years of companionship. "Mark my words, Rogers, this will not be forgotten. Prepare to ride solo train tonight. Hand Central Station for you. Your right hand, is going to be your best friend. Keep _yourself _warm."

"I'm just using my privilege for good," Steve jokes and then motions to Tony's door suggestively. When he left, Tony was napping, but now he's probably awake, waiting for his return. He can just imagine the surprise and pleasure on Tony's face at Bucky's entrance. "And you have much, much better things to do with your mouth," Steve tells him with a sly smirk. "So what are you waiting for? Tony's in there." 

Steve watches, with a fading sense of happiness as Bucky's face goes gradually hard, his guard going up, and knows it only gets like that when Bucky's feeling anxious. "What's wrong?" Steve asks tentatively, pausing at Tony's door as his hand falls back down by his side. "You don't want to see..." and he lets _Tony _trail off, going unspoken between them with a heaviness to it he doesn't expect. 

"No, no," Bucky admonishes with a jerk of his head. "It's not that. You sure... that he wants this?" he says, looking up and at Steve with tired pale blue eyes that had been sparking with hope just minutes ago. 

"_This?" _Steve inquires, taken back with confusion. 

"Us," Bucky explains, softly. "Our lives."

The _this _Bucky's referring to, Steve thinks with a prick of doubt, is their _life. _

Their chaotic, dangerous life of crime and death_. _

Of course, it's crossed his mind before. Numerous times. But Steve's never paid much attention to that little guy that lives in his head, spouting things he doesn't want to hear.

But it's there, and he can't ignore it any longer.

They _kill _people for a living (not really, they only do it when it's completely necessary) for God's sake, and who knows how many lists like Most Wanted, Terrorist Watch, etcetera, they're on (it's like ten). It hits Steve in a wave of turmoil, and he almost lurches at how _real _it is. Tony is a civilian, first and foremost. He's a human in a group of people who have been trained to face adversity, fight, and _endure_ since youth (him, since birth, Bucky, probably somewhere around his middle school years by his father) and Nat's been in the boat since she was a child as well. He's suddenly very aware of how they must seem to civilians, _normal _people with normal lives like Tony and Clint. 

Will Tony (and Clint, although Steve's not sure how _that's _going to work out, omitting the fact he's noticed Natasha spending quite a lot of time with the hazel-eyed archer/barista) even _want _to get to know them on a more intimate, deeper level, if Steve really tells him about the things they've done and will do? 

Being Steve and Bucky's... _whatever _will inevitably invite a torrent of questions, suspicion, and most importantly _trouble. _The Carters a well-respected, feared family in the under world. Steve has no doubt that anyone who dares to protest will be squashed, but how would others (enemies. Zola. McCullough. People who've been after the Carters for a long, long time) react to knowing that there is a defenseless, fragile civilian in their midst? A _soft target, _commonly referred to people who aren't like Steve, Bucky, or Nat. 

Tony will have to relocate, for his protection. Leave behind everything. Live with _them. _Become one of _them. _

Maybe he's getting too far ahead of himself. They've only just kissed, there's no guarantee otherwise that the relationship will even escalate into something more (God, he _wants _it too) or even get past the current stage. Life happens, right? Maybe Tony won't even decide to date them. But the question nags in his head, and Steve realizes that he's grinding his teeth so hard that his jaw feels like it's about to crack. 

_Will Tony want to give up his normal life for them? _

Steve glances up, a little wild-eyed, and Bucky's staring at him with a knowing glint in his blue eyes, and he bites out a sharp laugh. "You just figured it out? I thought you were the Man with a Plan, Stevie." 

"God," Steve says, his breath hitching. "You're right. Tony's not... he's not equipped to deal with everything _we _come with. So, it's a mistake?" and he hates the way he sounds, small and terribly regretful and tinged with sadness. Not something Tony deserves to have said about him. "I made a mistake, in kissing him, in asking for a chance?"

"No," Bucky tells him, soft and low as he pulls Steve into his arms. "No, I don't think so. Tony's the farthest thing from a mistake. But it's not something we can just kick off to the side and say, 'this doesn't matter'. Because it does, and we owe it to Tony. He deserves to know what he's getting into."

"He won't want us," Steve says, flat and heavy, sagging into Bucky's arms. "He's the smartest man here. That's an easy decision to make, between us and a normal life. A _safe _life. And I'm not so sure he shouldn't make it."

"It's easy to be selfish, isn't it?" Bucky concedes, closing his eyes briefly. "We could just...forget all of this," and he sounds wistful, _wanting _the same things Steve does. "We could just go inside there, tell the whole world _fuck it, _and just have what we want. But we've got a responsibility to bear, Steve, and we can't forget that and let it all go up in flames."

"We can't make Tony's decisions for him," Steve says, throat closing as the door to Tony's room seems _wrong _to touch now, and so he backs away until he's nearly at the end of the hallway. Bucky watches him go, mouth in a thin line that conveys the guilt and misery Steve impotently feels. "We don't have the right. I _kissed _him, Buck," Steve says, almost desperate to convince Bucky (no, himself) that nothing has to change. "I can't just drop that. I can't drop the feelings I have for him. How is that fair to Tony, to _us? _Because I know you have them too."

Bucky throws his hands into the air, and he looks even more exhausted than he did when he arrived. "I don't know, Stevie, okay? God, I want this too. Tony's playing defense with my heart, and I'm not that good a soccer player to steal it back. But we have to protect him, right? We gotta. I can't have him hurt again. This time," and Bucky makes a wild gesture at Tony's door. "This time he was _lucky. _We were lucky. Erik, or whoever the fuck hurt him, just wanted to send a message to _us. _What happens when the next time, he's not so lucky? What happens when they want to hurt Tony _more _because he's with us?"

And Steve is _angry _now, vibrating with frustration and honestly, screw this _helplessness _he feels. He knows he's supposed to be calm, see the reason that Bucky's showing, but he just can't make himself accept it. Because it can't be. He can't have _just _kissed Tony, felt the happiest he had in a long time, and then just _drop it. _He can't do that to Tony; can _see _the pain in his eyes when Steve tells him it was a mistake, the _betrayal _on Tony's face he can't stand to see. 

"We can protect him," Steve manages to say, balling his hands into fists. Because they _can. _He can. He can protect Tony, with his own goddamn body if they come for him in the dark of night, with his own goddamn hands if he needs to fight them off one by one. He can do it. He'll be ready now, if anyone tries to make a move on Tony again. 

"And what if we can't?" Bucky shoots back, ragged and flinty with jagged edges that could make Steve _bleed. _"We couldn't this time, right? What if they get past us again? What if Tony pays the price for _our _mistakes?"

"Then we hit back harder," Steve snarls, and he knows his face is twisted up in something ugly. Bucky's pale blue eyes are digging right into him, into his flesh, and Steve walks right up to his boyfriend. "Look. I know that this is scary. But Tony," and he fumbles for words. "Tony knows what he's doing. We do, too. We, we can just see where this goes, okay?" And it's _so_ not like him to plead like that, to skirt around the truth in a jumbling mess and ignore what's so very real. It's not Steve at all, and he faintly feels disgusted as his lack of control. "Buck, I _know_ he wants us."

And Bucky's eyes are full of torture, of torment at having been the one to say it. When it should just as well be Steve. "He wants a version of us we can't be."

"Can we talk about this later?" Steve says, curtly. There's a whirlpool of emotions in his head too chaotic to process and explain, and he doesn't want to say something that hurts Bucky, or _him. _And he misses Tony. Tony, who's probably asleep from all the time he was waiting for him, who they could _have, _if they allowed themselves to. But it's really just a question of control, isn't it? If they'll _let _themselves have it, and if Tony will allow them to. "Tony, we should go see him."

Bucky drops his hands, looking like the fight's been knocked out of him. "Sure," he says, and he sounds defeated as he brushes past Steve without a word and pushes into Tony's room. Steve follows, because there's nothing else to say. 

_Bucky's right_, Steve thinks with a sinking feeling. They _have_ to protect Tony. It's not Tony's choice, but they have a responsibility for Tony's status as a civilian in a world he was never supposed to be in. He was never supposed to meet them, 

When they enter the room, Tony's already sound asleep. The covers are dragged up to his chin, white and idyllic against the light blue of the room, and after a brief check on Tony's hospital monitors, everything's okay. Steve sits next to Tony on the uncomfortable armchair, and rests his head laboriously on his hands. Bucky moves slowly and quietly to Tony's bed, and sits down carefully by the sleeping brunet. 

In a gesture of tender affection, Bucky leans over Tony's prone body and draws his knuckles down the gentle slope of Tony's cheekbones, down to his mouth, and then gives a small sigh. "He looks much better than three days ago," Bucky murmurs, eyes filled with relief. He picks the edge of the blanket up and peeks underneath it, and then drops the fabric. "His bruises are healing."

"His head," and Steve clears his throat at how rough he sounds. "His head's alright now, too. No sign of concussion anymore."

"That's good," Bucky breathes, and it's so different to how lively, how playful he usually is. Bucky and Tony are certainly a pair to behold, witty and sharp-tongued with their jokes and astute observations. But what's left of the pair is a jarring sight. "It's unfair how pretty he looks when he's sleeping," Bucky comments with a thin laugh. And it's true. Tony's lashes a thick and luscious, resting on his cheeks, and his lips are parted ever so slightly, and Steve licks his own lips subconsciously, flashes of their kiss whipping through his mind.

It sets off a pang of want in his chest, and Steve quickly shoves it back down, and then says without looking at his boyfriend, "I'm not telling him the kiss meant nothing. It meant a hell of a lot."

Bucky raises his head, frowning. "I'm not asking you to. Fuck, Steve, I'm not _making _you do anything. I just don't want to see Tony hurt again, that's all, and pursuing a relationship with all three of us seems like a prime recipe for disaster."

"I know," Steve says, trying to keep his feelings at bay without snapping at Bucky. He hates feeling unhinged. "But we can't go back now. Tony knows we like him, and not in that friendly savior way."

"Hurting him now is better than letting something worse happen to him later," Bucky retorts brusquely, and then lowers his voice once Tony's sleeping form shifts to the side. "And you know that as well as I do. We've _got _to be careful here, Steve. McCullough is still at large. And the Rogues are out of control. We don't know what's happening with Zola, because our informants have gone _silent. _McCullough's been increasing his activity down south of our border, edging closer to New York, and I _know _they're going to make a move." Bucky's pale blue eyes are flashing in distress, and it's all Steve can do to stop himself from moving to his boyfriend's side and comforting him. "And then we have _Erik," _Bucky continues, venomous and sharp in his tone. "Who's probably fucking ratting us out, and who can't _prove_ is a traitor, and he's probably all in league with them anyways so this shit is going to hit the fucking fan."

And then he breathes a shuddering breath out, angry and wavering. "So can you tell me, that we have control over this? That we can keep Tony _safe_, and out of harm's way, in the middle of this clusterfuck?"

Steve closes his eyes, exhausted and _sad _and all he wants is for things to be simple. For things not to be this complicated. But Bucky's spinning off the rails, and Steve has to be there to save him, to keep him at shore. He has to be the one to take care of them, and so he gets off his seat, moves across the ground to sit beside Bucky. Takes his pride and balls it somewhere else. "What happened, sweetheart?" Steve says, gently, and then cups Bucky's face in his hands. "I know something's happened. You went out to find that Rosten girl, from Carlston's note, and ever since you've been off, and stressed. I know it's not all about Tony. We could take things slow with Tony. And the rest, it's all just background noise because we _can _deal with it. So talk to me, please. I can help."

Bucky is silent, jaw clicking like he's wondering whether to tell Steve, and then with a heavy breath drops his shoulders in a gesture of defeat and looks at him. 

"I didn't tell you," and Bucky's voice is wracked with guilt. "I know we tell each other everything. But that day I went to look for Rosten, I didn't tell you. I found her." Steve's eyes widen, because it's not what he expected, but he waits patiently for Bucky to finish. "She's McCullough's _daughter, _Steve, and the batshit crazy part is she wants to help. She said she wants to take her father down, because of her mother's death, and then..." Bucky's face screws up again, and Steve squeezes his shoulder reassuringly. "And then I took her to a safehouse in the city. And that's where I've been going everyday."

"Well, there it is. Not so hard, is it? So you've been stepping out on me with a lady," Steve says teasingly with a shrug, hoping to garner a smile out of Bucky. And he does, which makes him almost sigh in relief. Bucky rolls his eyes, and Steve's pleased to note that his heart rate is going down, and the distress is fading in Bucky's gaze. "No big deal. Go on, Buck."

"I didn't bring her here," Bucky says reproachfully, like he thinks he needs to defend himself for his decision. He really doesn't. Not to Steve. "Because I didn't trust her, and I wasn't going to bring her to the heart of the operation. But I've been working with her, gathering intel, files, on everything. She gave me a list of names of McCullough's inside circle, key people. I've checked it out—it works. She gave me locations for his warehouses, and told me the operations he's been doming out. Expansion into the city is one, and it's his first step to knocking out the Carters."

And Steve sits back, taking all of the information in. "So they're after my family," he says, because is it really all that surprising? No honor like taking down a rival family. And the Carters are like the prized pig in the chopping block for slaughter, the honor and vigor associated with their name has always been desired. 

"And, because McCullough knows he needs alliances to even think about taking on the Carters, he's been working with Zola. The Rogues now work for Zola respectively, doing his dirty work. I've even got mission reports of total gang obliterations, you remember the White Hand? They were creating channelways through the US in order siphon orders of cocaine and heroin to reach the South Americas. Anyway, the Rogues managed to completely _wipe them out,_ with Zola's help, of course. Rosten used to be their team leader, but now she's broken off to dole out her own personal brand of revenge of her father."

"I knew about the White Hand," Steve says, raising his eyebrows. "But I didn't know that the Rogues were responsible for their wipe. Did Rosten tell you what they do with the fallen gangs?" He'd gotten the report about White Hand a couple months ago, their drug empire crashing and just when they were on the track to gaining clout in the Drug War in Mexico and Peggy had said, in a serious voice, that something bad was going to come. Seems like she was right. 

Bucky's fingers are gently combing through Tony's dark curls now, and the blue in his eyes seem so muted they almost shine silvery-gray in the dim hospital ceiling light. Steve's always loved Bucky's eyes. "Since the Rogues are on Zola's payroll, I have to assume Zola took control of what remained. If he did expand into the drug trade, having him even entertain the possibility of taking over the Carters—is really fucking dangerous. I mean, look how big your family's empire is. With what you guys have accomplished, Zola could..."

"Do anything. Whatever he wants. Destroy everything," Steve finishes, voice echoing in the small room. He shares a look with Bucky, grave and serious. "Does Peggy know any of this? She is still the official leader of the Carters." _Soon to be me, _he thinks, worried. He's never wanted to be part of the Carter family, especially in a leadership position. He'd wanted to be... an artist. Art was how he had expressed himself, poured his heart out on the pages, hands always dotted and smeared with ink and graphite. 

But when his mother had left him in his Aunt Peggy's care, there wasn't much he could do when she'd told him when he turned twenty-one, that he would be taking over her position as she got older. Peggy had seen his sketchbooks, and Steve won't ever forget the way her eyes sparked in a flash of brief pity like she knew it would never become his future. 

"I wanted to come to you first," Bucky replies calmly, voice even. "You're technically the leader anyway. You oversee all operations in your family. But I'll file a report to Peggy as soon as you approve it." 

"How much do you trust Rosten's credibility?" Steve asks, after a moment of tense silence. Never, ever, deal with anyone from a rival family who's defected. It either means they're out looking for some form of trouble everyone would be better off not having, or playing at some game of being a double agent. It's not trustworthy. Rosten, in particular, sounds like a wild card. 

And Peggy's first lesson she had drilled into him since he turned six years old: trust your gut. 

"At first I didn't," Bucky says, hand settling down next to Tony's pillow, sounding distracted. "But with all the information she's given us..." and he trails off, shrugging. "She didn't have to give as much as she did. And I've spent three days with her. I know it looks unconvincing, but, I _do _trust her. To some level."

"Buck," Steve begins seriously. "It's never a good idea to get involved with people who've defected. Three days isn't enough to gauge whether someone's trustworthy or not, and while the information might have been valid, who knows what else she's hiding? We don't know this woman."

Rosten is a bit of a cliche—mother was killed by the big, bad, alcoholic mafia father in a fit of rage, daughter now goes on a rampage to exact revenge. It's not exactly unheard of, but still in this precarious situation, Steve would always have to doubt the true intentions of Rosten. 

"You should meet her," Bucky says suddenly, eyes brightening. "You can see for yourself. If you think she shouldn't be trusted—fine. I won't fight. But if you think, even for a minute, that she could help us, help us beat Zola and McCullough and whatever bullshit coming our way, then I think we should give her a chance. Especially with Erik at large, we can't afford to lose. Rosten is valuable," Bucky insists, leaning down and grabbing Steve's hand. "And I think we need her help."

Steve stays silent, but squeezes his boyfriend's hand back. Meeting with Rosten, in a secure location wouldn't be of any harm, enough to get a read on her, on her information. Why she'd want to help. Unless it was a trap, and then he'd be walking right into it. But Bucky wouldn't be suggesting the meet unless he was sure of Steve's safety, and of Rosten's reliability. And he trusts Bucky. With his life.

"She wants to help us kill her own father?" Steve decides to say, glancing doubtfully at Bucky. "Interesting convenience of the timing, isn't it?

"If my father had killed my mother in cold blood," Bucky murmurs, blue eyes cloudy. "Then I'd want to kill him too. I don't know about the timing, but it seems like Rosten's been holding in this anger for a while and is going after McCullough now because she's got the resources and the skills to."

"Fine," Steve says, because he's _tired _and he wants to sleep, wants Bucky there beside him, and he wants Tony to wake up so they can figure out this shit altogether. "I'll meet her. Just to talk. I haven't decided if I'm going to accept her help. You pick the location, and time. You trust her not to ambush us, right?"

Bucky nods, pleased. "Yeah. Don't worry," he says with a burst of lightheartedness and stoops down to peck him on the lips. "I'll throw my body all over you if I see anything suspicious."

"Anything suspicious, hm?" Steve asks, chuckles and moans lightly against Bucky's lips, as they press closer, warm and loving. "Does anything count?"

"I thought you didn't mind me withholding sex," Bucky teases and pulls back with a glint in his eye. "Why are you so eager for this masterpiece," and he gestures to himself with a proud flick of his head. "To be all over you?"

"Don't flatter yourself," Steve rumbles and smiles. "I could have that masterpiece anyday."

"And not only _this _masterpiece," Bucky says with a grunt, eyes straying towards Tony's sleeping form. "You got that one too."

"Well that's it, hm? I've got more game than you. Now that you're the sensible one in the relationship, I guess it's up to me to adopt the troublemaker persona." Steve says proudly, and the sight of Bucky's blue eyes brightening, the gray fading away in his gaze is enough to jolt his heart with happiness. It makes Steve nervous sometimes, how hard and how much he loves Bucky. Especially in their line of work, he tries not to think about how it could all be ripped away from his fingers in a split second of wrong decisions and accidents. It could all disappear. 

Bucky snorts, eyes darkening like he wants to bowl Steve over and kiss him senseless. Steve really wants him to. "Being the mature, responsible one doesn't really suit me, does it? I think I prefer being the horny asshole who makes prudes like you blush, and _seduce really cute strangers to come back to my home." _

"Okay," Steve rolls his eyes, unable to hide his fond exasperation. "_Just _because you're the one who convinced Tony to stay, it was _me _that established a feeling of camaraderie and hinted at the possibility of romance between us and allowed you to bring him here in the first place."

"Hold it," Bucky complains, fingers still stuck in Tony's soft brown curls. "Hinted at a possibility of a romance? When the fuck do you _hint _at anything? You're not a _hinter, _Rogers, you're more of the bash-the-point-in-your-face-with-a-shield type. You, are the most _upfront _polite asshole_—"_

"Oh, we're doing that now? Fine," Steve grins, leans forward to deliver his retaliation. "What about you, then? With the I'm-so-sexually-frustrated routine to generate pity and attention from poor young men like Tony who just want to go by the day without having your metaphorical dick swung in their face—"

"Steven Grant Rogers, how _dare_ you say that filthy word?" 

And it's Tony's stupefied voice, eyes comically wide and face tinted a pretty pink, his brown hair mussed and Steve whirls around to stare in shock and want because he just wants to _touch _Tony's soft hair and now his own cheeks are flushing red. Steve opens his mouth to defend himself because he needs to preserve the pristine image of Steve Rogers in Tony's mind, but nothing comes out and the sound dies in his throat. 

"I—" and Steve chokes on that one syllable, and shakes his head, mute. 

"How long have you been listening?" Bucky asks, chuckling at Steve's dumbfounded face and smiles, pleased and faintly surprised. "Sorry if we woke you up."

Tony's lips curve in a delighted smirk. "Long enough to hear the juicy bits. Bucky, I can't believe you've done it. You defiled America's Treasure."

Bucky bursts out laughing, blue eyes sparkling. It warms Steve's heart, it really does, and for a moment he forgets his embarrassing moment. "I gave you an itinerary on the day you arrived, didn't I, to give you something to look forward to? Defiling Steve was the priority. Always was."

"Hey," Steve protests, trying to sound indignant. He doesn't succeed. "Can we not talk about me that way? I feel objectified."

"Were you guys arguing about who's better at flirting with me?" Tony asks slyly, because he's deadpan like that and Steve really should have seen it coming but it still sends off alarms through his head like crazy. "Because you were both shit at it. Steve. You could've had me from day one. But you danced around me like I had an army of hotplates surrounding me for two feet. Bucky," he adds, swiveling to stare at Steve's boyfriend who's face is slowly blanching and looking chastised. "You, like Steve said, swung your metaphorical dick in my face _so much _I got the vibe you were ingenuine."

"My dick's not metaphorical," Bucky mumbles staunchly. "It's very fucking real, excuse you."

"I can vouch for that," Steve says, because that look on Bucky's face does all kinds of things to his heart and he's feeling charitable. It's a blessing. "It is indeed real."

Tony's beam grows wider, more cheschire like. Steve's heart pounds at the sight. "Exactly what you want to hear when you wake up. Two gorgeous men arguing over you. It's incredibly good for my ego."

"Your ego, is as big as my metaphorical dick," Bucky shoots back, teeth sharp and fanged as they look at each other and laugh. Steve wants to feel light, tries to laugh along, but the conversation with Bucky from earlier weighs heavy in the back of his mind like a dark shroud. 

Tony chuckles, and Steve's eyes trail towards where Bucky's hand is still on Tony's shoulder, soft and solid. It suddenly feels like his throat is tight, and Steve swallows, trying to dispel the feeling of despair surging up from his chest. Even if he won't admit it, Bucky has managed to rattle him. He can't look at Tony without seeing his horrible bruises, seeing his bruised head, seeing the remnants of a memory where Tony is fighting for breath and his _life_ with a tube down his throat, lips turning blue, remembers the wave of panic surging and roaring in his ears and the numbness when the doctors had said there was a chance of internal lung puncture and had chased him out of the room. 

Christ, Steve is pathetic. Everything he's thought before, about Tony being in danger because of them, of how they might not be able to _protect _Tony... About Steve and Bucky promising to. How much is Steve lying to himself? How much is he ignoring for his own sake? Steve looks away, clamping down a lump suddenly climbing up his raw throat. Bucky's eyes flicker to him, pale and blue and full of _warning, _and Steve flinches like he's been struck, burning with shame. 

"Steve?" Tony ventures, anxious and worried and out of the corner of his eye Steve can see Tony reaching for him. "What's wrong? You look like..." _you're about to cry. _

Steve squeezes his eyes shut, and feels like he's failed Tony. 

Bucky is frowning, dark hair falling into his eyes, and he's reaching forward too. "Steve? Steve, come on."

"I'm... I'm okay," Steve manages. Barely. He takes a deeper breath and fiddles his hands together, rubbing his thumbs. He tries to crack a smile, shakes his head, running a hand through his blond hair. He doesn't want to make a scene, doesn't want Tony to ask, doesn't want Bucky to feel worse. "Sorry."

"What's wrong?" Tony asks, beautiful brown eyes sincere and shadowed with worry. Steve wants nothing more than to reassure Tony, take that worry away, but he can't even bring himself to say it. It's like his mind is going blank in a way it so rarely does, and Steve is frozen within his own body. He feels awful. "Did I do something? Bucky, why's Steve being weird?"

Bucky is staring at him. Steve can't tell what he's thinking. "Steve's overthinking," is all Bucky says, open ended like he expects Steve to jump in and defend himself and actually explain what's going through his head. And Steve does, because hearing Bucky say he's _overthinking _when Bucky himself had been the reason, something angry snaps inside him. 

"Overthinking?" Steve repeats, forcing the anger down from his voice. It comes out terse, taut, and Tony's perceptive and his eyes flick from Steve to Bucky with dawning realization. 

"Yeah," Bucky says, squaring up his shoulders in a gesture of challenge that he _knows _will goad Steve on. They've always been that way—pushing and shoving the other within an inch off the clifftop, but always pulling back just in time to stop the violent tumble. "Tony, Steve told me about the kiss. Or kisses. And I, for the record, would _love _to tap that. You. I'm sorry, I mean kiss you. I'm ecstatic. But I said some things, like how you're a civilian and we're...criminals and you getting hurt is just simply not what we want, and really this is about how me saying that pursuing a relationship between all three of us could really get you hurt and I think it's just sending Steve's poor brain into overdrive with worry."

Tony, who's been silent since Bucky started talking, is now staring at both of them, mouth slightly opened with surprise. Steve watches him, apprehensive and scared because he thinks Tony will say _yes, Bucky, you're right _and then Tony will ask to go home and never see them again and then Steve really _will _cry because losing Tony would be unimaginable. Right as they were stumbling upon something precious.

"Bucky," Tony says after a long dreadful pause, and motions with his right hand for Bucky to come closer. Steve continues to watch this exchange, chest tight and knows that if he starts talking he'll just babble so Steve opts to stay silent as Bucky obeys and leans closer, and closer, till they're nose to nose. 

Tony looks right back into Bucky's blue eyes swimming with fragile hope, slides his hand up Bucky's muscular chest and over his collarbones, fingers lingering lightly on the vulnerable skin of his neck until Tony's hand cups the back of Bucky's head in a bracing and soft gesture that Bucky closes his eyes at. Steve can barely breathe, doesn't know what Tony is _doing_, and Bucky's not any better off himself because Steve can see the back of his boyfriend's legs trembling ever so slightly. 

And then after another long pause that has Steve about ready to swallow his own tongue, Tony's gaze turns intense and so warm the brown turns to molten chocolate. With a brief catch of his breath that makes his eyelashes flutter, Tony tightens his fingers behind Bucky's head and pulls, guides him forward and right to his lips. 

Bucky goes liquid in Tony's grasp, and his pale blue eyes go blazing with a flare. Bucky pushes back against Tony, desperate like he's trying to hold onto Tony as tight as he can like he might disappear any second. Steve gets it. He really does. Tony doesn't fight, lets Bucky dominate, lets Bucky explore—no, _devour, _like he's an addict wild for a fix. Like he needs it, like air. Bucky's hands travel so slowly, sure and firm where Steve wasn't, and up to Tony's face to caress his stubble and into his thick, dark curls to grip tightly. 

Steve... well Steve is shocked. He's feeling that a lot these days. He's not used to it. Seeing his boyfriend, the love of his life, kiss Tony... Steve is well aware that most people in his position would have a problem with it. It's not conventional. Can even barely scratch the surface of unconventional, actually. But Steve feels _relieved. _Like a burden's been lifted off his shoulders, actually seeing the visual confirmation that Tony accepts them, that Tony kissed Bucky first. Steve sits back, feeling numb—but in a good way. A little like he's floating. 

They finally pull apart. Bucky's breathing harder than it usually is, chest going up, and down, fast. His lips are slick and crimson from the kiss, eyes downright predatory in its darkness. Tony is laying back on his hospital pillows, looking smugly contented. It's a good look for him, kissed out and blissful. Then images of Tony _wrecked, _wanting and needing them, skin a lovely olive brown and Steve's touching him, Bucky's eyes glowing in the shadows flash behind his eyes flit behind his eyes and Steve looks away, blushing at the attractive thought.

"Tony," Bucky croaks out, a stupid grin on his face. The same smile is working it's way onto Steve's face, and he can't stop himself as Tony glances at them with a glint of relief in his eye. Like some part of him expected it all to go to shit. It's never been farther from the truth. 

"Listen," Tony says softly. "Listen, I get it. I do." Tony's hands are suddenly on his arms again, going up to his face, and Steve honestly doesn't know exactly when he shifted closer to Tony, because now they're side-by-side. "I know you won't be comforted by just blind faith that everything is going to be okay. I know you worry. I know you worry about me, working through possible scenarios, every possible outcome. But I think this," and he gestures towards the three of them.

"Is worth it. Me getting hurt isn't all of your responsibility to carry—I'm a grown ass man, okay? I can take care of myself. I'm responsible for myself. You two aren't my babysitters, or whatever, I distinctly remember my last babysitter was Cindy Ranch and she was a major bitch who stole all the poptarts and blamed it on the dog. So I'm certain," and Tony's holding up a finger the way he gets when he's worked up, and Steve just falls for the man all over again. "That you two aren't Charlotte. Nor do I want you to be."

"First, how do you know I don't steal poptarts? Steve and I could do it for a living. And second, you can take care of yourself?" Bucky echoes, looking like he's trying to suppress a smile. "Really. You, who have more self-destructive tendencies than Steve Irwin, and he worked with _alligators."_

_"First,"_ Tony mimics right back with a skeptical arch of his eyebrows. "I'm fairly sure you don't have a side gig to crime of stealing poptarts. I'd have known by now. Second, that is unfair," Tony says, swiveling to point accusingly at Bucky. "You've only seen my don't-think-before-you-act tendencies. Those are only occasional. Like fucking Monsoon. But I won't have you two trying to coddle me, alright? I'm not a child."

"No one's saying you are," are the words that tumbles out of Steve's mouth before he can stop them. "But it's our fault you ended up here. Tony, at the core of it, you're a civilian. We have the responsibility to make sure you don't die on our watch, and you've already come too close to that too many times. You can't deny that we are _not_ from the same worlds."

"So does that matter?" Tony asks, visibly trying to stay calm. But Tony's always worn his heart on his sleeve. "The universe has given me a golden fucking opportunity. I fully intend to ride it to cloud nine. I'm not going to kid myself," and the self-deprecating laugh that comes out of Tony makes Steve wince, because it's grating and doesn't belong. "I know you guys are way out of my league. You're right—this will probably go up in flames. But fuck it, I'm willing to take what I can get, even if it means at the end I'm the one left behind."

Steve goes silent at that, mouth open, because the fact that Tony views himself in such little regard, it's heartbreaking. Steve turns his head, tries to catch Bucky's eyes, and can see the same sadness reflected in Bucky's face. Steve shakes his head, wants to shout, wants to _yell _at Tony to tell him how special he is. Wants to show him how much Tony is already a part of them. 

"You're an idiot," Bucky says, twisting his head to glare at Tony. "But you know what—I'm a man of action. So I will _show _you what I mean. Me and Steve."

"Right," Steve says, this time more determined. "But Tony, we wouldn't do that to you. We wouldn't leave you behind." Steve slides off the bed, reaching forward and lifting Tony's face as he does. It is a move intended to make their gazes meet, and Tony acquiesces again, and Steve smiles in happiness and relief. "We can take this slow, whatever pace you want. No coddling, no babysitting. We'll work this out like mature adults."

"Whatever pace you want, like mature fucking adults," Bucky agrees, hand settling on Tony's thighs. "We mean it. No pressure, but you have to understand that Steve and I _will _be protective over you. That's non-negotiable. We want you to be safe."

Tony's looking up at them, face open and hopeful and brown eyes gentle. "Okay, I'm good with that," he breathes out, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. "We can take it slow. That's fine, as long as you two don't suffocate me, it's good."

"Can we suffocate you other ways?" Bucky quips cheerfully, smirking suggestively. 

"Slow, Buck," Steve scolds, twisting around to cuff his boyfriend's head. Bucky ducks, adopting a petulant scowl, and settles on the floor directly beside Tony. Tony closes his eyes, like he can't believe it's happening, and Steve frowns in hesitation. Perhaps they've tired Tony out. Maybe his wounds are hurting again? "Tony?" he asks uneasily. "Is something wrong?"

Setting his head back on his pillows, Tony shakes his head, eyes still closed. "Nope," and the brilliant smile radiating across his face is testament of the fact. "This is such a mindfuck. But I'm not complaining."

"He's amazed at how amazing we are," Bucky announces loudly from his place on the floor. "I completely agree with you, Tony."

"Murder muffin," Tony cracks one eye open and shoots him a lazy stare. "There cannot be two enormous egos in this relationship, it'll just cancel each other out. So I vote I get to keep it. It's special to me."

"You're selfish," Bucky says teasingly, but stretches up to drop a sweet peck on Tony's cheek. "But I'll allow it." And Bucky's eyes are soft and endearing, softer than Steve's seen in a while, and it triggers a bloom of warmth in Steve's chest at the sight. Tony blushes promptly from the peck, which Bucky knowingly ignores, as Tony clears his throat in an attempt to dissuade it. Steve settles back on Tony's bed, watching the two of them, and for the first time, he's feeling calm and at ease. _Happy. _

"Will you stay?" Tony asks, quiet but no less unsure, pulling up the blankets over his chest and up to his nose. It's terribly adorable, with Tony's button nose poking from the blanket swaddled up to his cheeks and Steve resists the urge to gather Tony in a massive hug.

"Of course," Steve murmurs, standing up and dragging one of the visitor's chairs next to Tony's bed. "We'll stay. You've eaten already?"

Bucky protests in the background, "I haven't."

"I have," Tony says, and the smile is back on his face. It really should be illegal for Tony's smile to have such a strong effect on Steve. Tony scrunches his nose, flooring Steve's heart _again, _and tells him, "A while ago. Fuck. I can't stop smiling."

"I'm glad," Steve says, patting Tony's knee. Seeing Tony smile so much—Steve is overjoyed. "You should go to sleep," Steve suggests, settling into the visitor's chair with some discomfort. The chair (he really should replace it) is uncomfortable, small and the legs far too spindly to support his 210 lb weight. But it doesn't matter. "We're here."

Bucky raises his pale blue eyes from the floor and gives a comforting smile, squeezing Tony's hand. "Sleep well, doll." 

"Okay, 'night." Tony says, voice getting quieter as he turns to his side, eyes falling shut. Tony must be tired, exhausted, even.

As Tony's breath starts getting slower and deeper, Bucky gets up to dim the lights. It's unspoken between them—they'll stay the whole night in Tony's room.

Steve can't believe that's something they can do now, without seeming like creepy man stalkers. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: I noticed that sometimes my story seems to go up into the front page, and I apologize for the confusion as I think AO3 is acting up for some reason. I do go back and edit some earlier chapters, getting rid of typos and fixing grammar, but sometimes I notice that the story seeming 'updated' is a problem.

Bucky licks his lips, and really tries not to think about Tony kissing him. 

He ends up thinking about Tony kissing him. 

Tony's hands trailing up his shoulders, just the slightest touch on his neck, and then cupping his cheeks. Bucky shivers a little, grinning, because Tony _kissed him first. _He'd been planning to woo Tony elaborately, flowers and chocolates along with Tony's favorite song, _Shoot to Thrill_ may have been involved, but _this _is so much better. It's nice, too, Bucky thinks, because Steve kissed Tony first and then Tony kissed _him _next and it's like the best cycle to ever grace this dying planet. 

However, Bucky's also irked, because all he should be worrying about is when he and Steve are going to take Tony out on a proper date, but instead he's thinking about Niki fucking Rosten, Steve's shitty little brother, and how so many people are out to get them Bucky has quite literally ran out of fingers to count them on. 

Niki goddamn Rosten. She's a pain in the ass, and Bucky really regrets giving into his whimsical, generous, all-around-good-guy persona and not getting a shot off at her annoying face with his Beretta when he had a chance. 

He's put Rosten in a safehouse, at an abandoned subway nestled in the center of New York, left her with plenty of food and water and promises that if she ever takes a step outside on the ground that is not his safehouse without his permission, the laser robots he's installed around the house will cremate her into a shape of roadkill. Or a dead pigeon. Because that's what Rosten is. A pigeon. Carriers of trouble and disease, and nothing good ever fucking happens when several of them join forces. And it's socially acceptable to throw empty beer cans at them.

Actually, if Bucky's being real honest to himself, he's already amassed at least four empty beer cans to return to the safehouse with. 

"Bucky," Steve says, humor in his voice, cutting through his delicious fantasies of hurting Rosten, "You're doing that thing with your face again."

The _thing_, that Steve is referring to, is his whole face stuck on this constipated, tense expression. Bucky narrows his eyes at Steve, because attacking other people personally is _not _okay. Especially in front of the cute guy they're both out to woo. Bucky gives a malicious snort, snapping his jaw to glare lightly at his boyfriend. "You remember that thing I like about your mouth sometimes? When it just like, _shuts up—"_

"Oh," Steve says, mouth forming a perfect little 'o', the epitome of innocence. "I don't know, Buck, you like a lot of things about my mouth. Is this a guessing game? Like pick your favorite?"

And Bucky tries to say _fucking hell, _but instead makes a noise that sounds a lot like _fggkl _ because he can't handle it when Steve is anything but pure and righteous. He can't really look at Steve, because if he does it'll be proof Steve knows exactly what he's doing and that's just too much for his poor little heart. "You know, you being catty like that is the reason why I'm going to stop doing nice things for you, like moving your head into the right position when you're sleeping in a chair so you don't get brain damage from the lack of blood circulating up into your stupid neck."

"That's really specific," Steve comments casually, his hand going up to palm at his neck like it's not exactly what Bucky did for him _five _hours ago. "I don't think biology works that way, Buck. Valiant effort, though."

"It does so," Bucky tells him, whirling around. "It does _fucking _so."

Steve says nothing to that, only a small smile, and then glances down at his sketchbook. He's on his thirteenth page now, and he's only started the book a few days ago. Watching Steve sketch has always been able to calm Bucky, relax him even. The languid, long strokes of Steve's hand on the page, the familiar smudges of ink and charcoal on his palm, it's always been able to ground Bucky in a way few other things can. 

They're sitting outside in the waiting room, because the doctors had demanded they leave so they can properly administer Tony the right drugs and do a check-up. It's been around four days now, since the attack, and Tony's recovered quite nicely, the doctors say. The wound on his head is healing, he still has to watch his bruised ribs, but Tony'll be alright in a week or so. 

"Buck?" Steve says suddenly, blue eyes impossibly bright as the couch squeaks under his weight. It floors Bucky sometimes, when he turns around to look at his boyfriend and Steve's eyes are just so vivid. They have a mystical power, those baby blues, and Bucky's a sucker for it everytime. "Don't keep anything from me again, you hear?

Bucky winces, and he grows absurdly aware of the hurt barely concealed in the layer just underneath Steve's face. He's never seen it before, because Steve's always been so good at hiding his emotions when he wants to, but now Bucky can't tear his eyes away from the crushed expression that flits across Steve's face for a split second. 

And he feels guilty, because he knows, if their roles were reversed—if it was Steve keeping things from him, he'd be hurt too. Rosten was never meant to become a secret as she did. It was always supposed to be Bucky's decision, and if it came down to it, _Bucky's _mistake. Not Steve's. 

_That _was why he had been so reluctant to tell Steve. 

"Steve," Bucky starts, and brings himself to meet his boyfriend's eyes. "I just wanted... I just wanted to protect you. I wasn't sure."

Steve smiles a little, and it sends a flood of relief down the back of Bucky's brain. "I understand, Buck. You wanted to be sure she was the real thing before I met her, or even knew about her. I get it. But next time, just give me some sort of heads-up—so if you disappear during one of your excursions, I'll know why?" and Steve's trying not to show how worried he really was, which sets off something raw in Bucky's chest. 

"I'd never disappear on you," Bucky replies sincerely, pitching himself forward on the visitor's small sofa that is barely enough to fit the both of them, and takes Steve's hands. "I wouldn't just leave your fine ass like that. But I'll tell you next time. If anything's up, you'll be the first to know."

"You're being very cooperative today," Steve teases, shoulders relaxing. "It's a nice change."

Bucky takes a breath that's only a little shaky, determined to make it up to Steve. "We can worry about the problems tomorrow," he promises, arm circling around Steve's waist to pull the blond in closer. "Let's have a movie night tonight. We'll cuddle, Nat can sharpen her knives behind Clint in that creepy-sexy way of hers, maybe Happy and Bruce will appear from the network of underground tunnels in the building. Pietro's out for a mission, so maybe Wanda'll join. Let's show Tony and Clint the good parts of our family."

Steve gives a laugh, shoots him a fond look that almost sends Bucky's heart dropping into his belly, because it's a sad look. "Can we afford to worry about the problems tomorrow? Erik might not give us that courtesy. Peggy won't, either, when she finds out about Rosten. For now she's satisfied with the Rogues intel, the Carlston fiasco, and she's trusting me to handle the Tony situation."

"Peggy is _definitely _a problem for future Bucky and Steve. She won't find out tonight. If Erik even comes within an inch of our floor, and that's being generous because our floor has strict orders to only permit _our _being there, I'll vigorously beat him to death with a pillow." Steve's face goes all scrunched up, eyes widening at the brazen lack of morality Bucky shows without shame like it hurts for Steve to even imagine the pillow scene. "It'll be like fulfilling a lifelong dream of mine. You can watch with popcorn, babe, if you're feeling left out."

"I'm only concerned about the pillow's wellbeing." Steve says instead, with a soft pout, and once again filling Bucky's chest with so much damn _love_ it nearly takes his breath away, cementing the fact that there will only be Steve Rogers for Bucky for the rest of his life.

"I love you," Bucky tells him helplessly, pushing their foreheads together till he can hear the steady thrum of Steve's heartbeat. 

"I know." Steve says, cocky and bright, and Bucky narrows his eyes in exasperation. 

"I'm having a heart-felt moment here, would you _please?" _Bucky complains, raising an eyebrow at the blond but he can't seem to keep the smile off his face. Which is something he really needs to learn, because he can't have his agents or trainees catching their normally sour-faced broody commander with a dopey _smile _on his face in the hallway like a chump. 

Steve pulls away, his fingers still entwined with Bucky's. "I like it," he says, grinning. Bucky's confused for a moment, because he knows sometimes Steve can go back and forth between thoughts like a rodeo clown. "The movie night. I'm sure Tony would love it," he continues, eyes going gooey and soft and in any normal circumstance, it would result in Bucky rolling his eyes and making a gagging gesture, but it's Tony and Bucky can only nod along, a smile spreading involuntarily on his lips.

"I'm making him sit between us," Bucky announces to no one in particular, shooting a zesty glare at Tony's closed door. "That way, we can bestow upon him our enormous charm and flirtatious moves. You can, whisper sweet nothings into his ear, I'll make him blush like a cherry tomato with _my _sweet nothings, and we can completely sweep him off his feet."

"Sweet nothings?" Steve says incredulously, ears going a little pink as he coughs, like he's imagining the things Bucky will say and it's making him a little hot. Bucky grins at his boyfriend's reaction, because Steve's modesty will never ever get old. "What, you mean like... I want to, uh, you smell nice? I want to... dream you?"

"Well aren't you the sweet talker," Bucky says, regarding Steve with utter respect, smile turning wicked. "I'm wet."

Steve guffaws and it completely makes Bucky's day. "I'm so bad," he moans, laying his head back on the cream-colored wall behind them. His hands go up, through his short blond hair, and Steve turns to stare at him soulfully. "I can't sweet talk him. I'm horrible at it."

"You're so bad it's charming," Bucky offers, patting the blond's muscled shoulder. "You smell nice? _Really?_ You can't come up with anything better than that?"

Steve scowls, his blond hair curling into a cowlick. It negates the strength of his scowl by at least a hundred percent. "What's wrong with it? It's a... it's a compliment. Tony _does _smell nice."

"Nah," Bucky drawls, scooting closer to Steve. He leans in close to the blond's ear, running a hand up his back, nose touching the lobe of his ear as Bucky darts his tongue out, catching the soft flesh in his teeth and nibbling gently. It's Steve's weakness and he's pliant in Bucky's hands as he presses hungry kisses into Steve's neck, warmth pooling in his belly. "You taste sinful, babe," he rumbles into the crook of Steve's collarbones after a particularly toothy kiss. "You like that? You like it when I get close, when I _bite, _when I claim you?"

Steve's blue eyes are flashing hotly, his skin burning like Bucky's just switched the temperature up, a sure sign he's aroused. A throaty gasp catches in Steve's throat and it sends a smug smirk onto Bucky's face. "Buck," Steve says breathily, pupils dilated. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. You're better at dirty-talking than I am. What a nice way to show it."

Bucky sits back, satisfied. He hopes it doesn't show in his pants too much, because he can definitely feel how hard he is. And with one quick glance downwards from Steve, his boyfriend is certainly trying to restrain himself too. "_That's _what we should do to Tony."

"Tony is going to _hate _you," Steve chuckles, clearing his throat and rearranging his seating position so terribly subtly Bucky can't help but snort. "Because I kinda do right now."

"No you don't." Bucky refutes, lifting his shoulders in a half-shrug. 

"You don't think we should take it slow?" Steve asks, a little anxiously.

"Sure we will," Bucky smirks, showing off a little teeth. "We'll take it slow. But where's the harm in making him a little hot, a little bothered?"

"You're playing with fire," Steve warns him, but it's obvious he's not going to refuse Bucky. "We don't know if Tony's up to that."

Because Bucky's a compassionate partner who cares about his boyfriend being a sappy, caring pile of goop, he gives a little sigh and turns to Steve fully. "I trust in Tony's ability to be a mature grown adult and make his own decisions, and _communicate _with either that mouth of his or his body language whether he likes what we do or not, babe. If Tony hates it, he'll let us know."

Steve falls silent at that, looking appeased. Bucky can't wait for tonight. 

One of the doctors opens the door to Tony's room, and tells them that they can come in.

So it's ten more minutes before they go into Tony's room, once the doctors have all cleared out. Tony's in the bathroom changing into a shirt and sweats Steve rummaged around in his closet for, and they're just waiting to bring him to lunch. A proper lunch, instead of the hospital-grade meal Tony's been sucking down for four days. Tony has made it promptly clear how excited he is for some real food. 

"How're you doing in there?" Bucky yells at the bathroom door, once it's become suspiciously quiet for around two minutes as he bounces the stressball he found on Tony's bed against the wall for the millionth time while Steve watches him with an air of graceful judgement. "You need some help pulling up your pants? Your boxers? The red thong I found in your pocket?"

"I am doing just fine, don't need your man hands to help," Tony hollers back indignantly, and then a thump echoes throughout the room, followed by Tony's muffled 'oomph'. Bucky stops throwing the stressball and pauses, side-eyeing the door. "I'm fine. The thong's just a little tight, that's all."

Steve rolls his eyes at that, but he's smiling too. 

"It's important the crown jewels be firmly secured," Bucky admonishes, resuming his stressball match with the wall. "Come out, let daddy see it."

Steve groans. "Please don't call yourself that. That's weird."

"I agree with Adonis," Tony declares, swinging the bathroom door open. "Bucky, the title of 'daddy' must be _earned, _not taken."

Bucky chucks the stressball at him. Tony catches it after a little fumbling, and glares. "It's nice to see that your depth perception still works," Bucky says, grinning and sidling up to the smaller brunet. "I was worried you wouldn't be able to walk by yourself and be constantly needing my support."

"Don't even joke about that," Steve mumbles behind them with a worried glance at Tony. 

"It would just be the worst, wouldn't it?" Tony sniffs, arching a brow at him. "Although, a shame you'd only let me do that if I was injured." And then he purposefully saunters forward, Steve barreling up to open the door for him, and the tips of his ears go pink again when Tony gives him the sweetest smile possible in thanks. Bucky spends a full twenty seconds laughing. 

"You'll have to excuse Bucky," Steve says, gesturing for Tony to go first as they round the corner of the hallway to leave the medical wing. "He hasn't had lunch yet."

"Ah," Tony says, dragging out the 'a' with a knowing smile. "It's okay, Murder Muffin," and then whirls around to blow Bucky a decidedly sinful wink and kiss. "With all that body weight I'm not surprised. Anyways, I'm just so glad to get out of that hospital room. It was so stuffy, and I was so _bored, _and you have no idea how much I want to just do something again. Hey," and the brightness in Tony's brown gaze jumpstarts Bucky's heart a little bit. "Is Happy going to be around? I want to uh, thank him."

"Thank him?" Steve asks, hand settling into the small of Tony's back as he guides them up the elevator and onto the second floor of the compound. "What for?"

"For finding me," Tony says, earnestly. "And putting up with me."

"He's fond of you," Bucky tells him honestly as they start heading towards the dining hall. "He's probably eating with the rest of the team. He came to visit you too, was worried about you. Compared to the other assistants he's ever had in the workshop, you're the only one he's never complained about or chased out with a drill."

"He's chased someone with a _drill?" _Tony questions loudly, but there's no fear or shock in his eyes, only curiosity and dry humor. "Damn, what did the kid do?"

Steve shares an amused glance with him, and then smiles. "Yeah, the kid ran screaming and quit working for us. He was the son of a business associate, that's why he got it in the first place. Happy didn't say much, only mentioned that the kid didn't know the difference between a dill and a pickle."

There's a moment of confused silence, like Tony has no idea why that would warrant being chased with an automatic drill. 

"I am significantly more worried than I was thirty seconds ago," Tony confesses with a slight pitch to his voice that has Steve frowning, and Bucky just knows the blond wants to remedy the situation as fast as he can. 

"It'll be fine," Bucky says, and then kicks open the doors to the lunch hall as two agents walk through them. It's Ferguson and Rodriguez, two of the men he'd trained as a force a few years ago. They salute to Bucky and Steve immediately, their eyes straying inquisitively to Tony, who is sandwiched between them protectively. To his credit, Tony doesn't cower or shrink, but stands tall with his shoulders back and nods respectfully to the agents. Bucky smiles to himself, a small ball of pride glowing in his chest.

"They look like proper M16 agents," Tony pipes up as soon as they're out of earshots, and Bucky looks down at the smaller brunet, wondering how it must feel like to be a civilian and be faced with the people of one of America's most wanted crime families. "James Bond would be proud."

Steve chuckles a little wryly at that. "You know, funny you should say that, James Bond is actually my godfather. He and Peggy are old pre-school friends."

Tony, out of the corner of his eye, shoots Steve a sidelong glance like he half-believes it.

Bucky shakes his head. 

Natasha, Clint, Wanda, Happy, Pietro and surprisingly, Bruce is all sitting at the table, huddled on a round table with their faces surprisingly set in concentration. Then, in a rare moment of animated excitement that Bucky's only ever seen coming from Happy once in his lifetime (and that was after Happy had just built the best stealth assault rifle that's ever been on the market) the bulky, heavy-set man leaps from his seat and smacks an Uno +4 card down on the table with a vicious cackle. 

"So long, suckers!" Happy exclaims, crossing his arms in a gesture of unrefuted pride. "Sorry not sorry, Pietro."

Pietro stares at the card, then back up at Happy with an expression of betrayal. "How could you, Happy? I thought we had something!" and the Sokovian accent drips off his syllables, which makes Wanda, his sister laugh even more at the image of a butthurt tough Sokovian agent. 

They all come to a stop, as they notice Steve, Bucky and Tony standing off to the side, watching with unreserved amusement. 

Tony in particular is grinning. Clint pops off his seat like a bullet, a whirlwind of gangly arms and brown hair and smiles and launches himself onto Tony, and Tony manages to wrap his arms around his best friend without plowing them both into a group of agents gathered around nearby on another table. 

"Welcome back," Clint says, pulling himself back after ruffling Tony's hair affectionately and rolling onto the balls of his heels. "Missed you, buddy." 

Tony smacks a loud, completely eye-opening kiss on Clint's cheek, and something dark and _wanting _leaps into Bucky's throat. He swallows it down, watching their exchange with a small smile because Tony and Clint are just sweet together. The whole group is turning around now, Pietro and Wanda watching with sharp, careful gazes. Natasha looks serene and calm, like she always does, but there's a quirk to her lips that suggests she's just as happy as... well, _Happy, _to see Tony up and about on his feet again. Happy, in question, is standing to the back, jaw a little open.

"Hey, guys," Tony greets the rest of the team with a little wave, and particularly a soft smile to Natasha who dips her head graciously back. "Uh, Happy." And then Bucky watches as Tony moves up to the larger man, expression meek but set. "I just wanted to say thank you for having me at the lab a few days ago, I really had the best time working with you. And for finding me. And I'm sorry that I got blood all over your nice bathroom tiles, because let's face it, that marble is _exquisite, _and—"

Happy steps forward and envelopes Tony into a hug, and pats him on the back in that father-son way that Bucky knows all too well. "I'm glad to see you up again after you left some of your blood on my tiles," Happy says gruffly, stepping back and crossing his muscled arms again. "Come by the lab again soon, kid. We have work to do." And then he marches back to his spot on the table, leaving Tony behind looking partly stunned and amazed. 

Bucky grins, feeling grateful to the other engineer. Happy's soft and a proper teddy bear inside, underneath the rough and hard exterior he shows anyone who isn't, well, family. It warms him to think, that maybe, even just a little bit, that Tony and Clint are considered anything remotely close to _family _here. 

Steve takes his place beside Natasha, who shifts to the side to leave space for the big blond. "So, playing Uno during lunch?"

Wanda and Pietro glance to each other, smiling. "Of course, sir."

Bruce, who's never met Tony, is awarded with Tony's blinding smile. "You're Bruce Banner, chemist and bioengineer? Steve's told me about you." And then they shake hands, and Bruce is quiet about it, but there's something pleased in his face when Tony starts talking science. The kind of science Bucky loses after the word 'hydrocarbon'. It's an even rarer sight than Happy's animated sequence earlier, and Bucky ushers up to Steve and Nat as the rest of the group dissolves into side conversations. Tony brings Clint over, who just can't stop smiling crookedly, and Bruce smiles at him, too as Happy hovers beside Bruce, interjecting engineer talk. Wanda and Pietro have their own thing in Sokovian, and that leaves Nat, Steve and him. 

Nat, who's eyeing them both with an observant green gaze that tells him she's absolutely seeing through their bullshit. "Well, I take it you guys released that suffocating sexual tension on Tony you've been dragging around?"

Steve looks down, then his eyes flick up bashfully. "What?"

"Yes," Bucky clarifies with a snort, slotting his thumbs into his waistband. "He said yes."

"Yes to dating?" Natasha inquires, lips pressing into a thoughtful line. 

"Yes to something happening between us. He's not sure about the semantics yet." Bucky supplies helpfully, and Steve does this little thing with his shoulders that looks like a shiver. Bucky almost laughs. "We're going to woo him."

"Steve's going to be terrible at the flirting," Natasha says like she's doing Steve a personal favor by airing Steve's dirty dating laundry. Steve makes a pained noise that has his hands going up into his hair. "He's going to say dumb shit."

"That's why I'm there," Bucky tells her, winking. "Steve's stupid flirting is going to get him liked anyway, you know that, it just adds to his irresistible charm. But with my seasoned professionalism in sweet-talking people into dating me, Tony won't stand a chance."

"I don't know if he's complimenting me or not," Steve says slowly with a squint at him. "But yes. We're relying on Bucky's deep-seated experience in dating to get us through this difficult time."

Natasha nods, red hair falling down her shoulders in lustrous waves as she turns and regards Tony with a blank face. Then she looks back at them, green eyes tracking their faces, and it's one of those times Bucky can almost feel her talking to him without words. "You're happy?" she asks, simple, gentle and full of love, because they're _family _to each other. Because they take care of each other, and for so long, it's been Steve and Bucky, then Nat. For years, until the rest of their team joined. 

What she's asking, Bucky thinks, is _are you sure?_

Steve lets out a breath like he's been holding it. Bucky doesn't need to answer, because he knows Steve will do it for him. "Yeah, Nat," he says, with the kind of smile that has the power to floor Bucky. "We're happy."

"He's a good one," Nat says softly, and it's heavy with meaning. Natasha doesn't say shit like that without thinking. They both nod, take her words in, because they _know. _"Be careful." she murmurs, reaching forward with both of her hands and taking each of theirs. She squeezes, once, and lets go. 

And that's that. 

It turns out that Tony, Clint and Pietro are interactive movie watchers. That's probably the kindest way to put it. Now, they always knew about Pietro, but pair him with Tony and Clint and it's like they're acting out their own little movie. They talk to the screen with heated, vibrant voices like the actors can _hear _them, throws popcorn like an olympic sport, rolls their eyes dramatically like they're taking personal offense to the movie, flails, gestures, and does everything short of having a seizure in protest to the terrible movie choice that Bucky ultimately regrets is Prometheus. 

But at least Tony's between Steve and Bucky. And he'd be lying if he said that he wasn't watching Tony as much as the movie itself. Their plan to whisper sweet-nothings in Tony's ear is definitely off-track, mostly due to his interactiveness, but that's okay. The other side of Tony, the more carefree one, is just as interesting to learn about. 

"Sorry," Tony says abruptly, falling back with a thump on the pillows ranging about around them. They're all comfortably places, and Bucky's heart has been hammering in his chest ever since he figured out Tony's leg is on _his _on purpose. And his left hand is almost entwined with Steve's, and he's decidedly squished inbetween both of them. "Uh. Sorry if I'm annoying you."

"I didn't know watching movies with you is basically a workout," Bucky teases gently, ignoring the heat streaking up his chest as Tony settles back against his shoulder, head lolling on Bucky's chest. He doesn't know if it's intentional, but it's making his heart go haywire.

Steve's close by, breath warm, and blue eyes liquid. "I'm just trying not to judge the movie. Tony's rubbing off on me."

Tony smiles, big and wide. "Well, there's another thing—oh what the fuck, you gonna _die, _dumbass!" Tony gets distracted by what's happening on the screen and fishes around in the almost empty popcorn bag to chuck some more at the screen. "Geez, it's like the worst sci-fi movie tropes in one big, stinky wrapped present."

"Seriously," Bucky says, narrowing his eyes at the screen. "I've seen Steve's lifeless teddy bear with more self-preservation instinct."

Steve drops his jaw with an affronted look. "Hey! Don't talk smack about Mr. Flufferson like that."

Tony laughs, hard. "_Mr. Flufferson? _ Steve, that's adorable."

Bucky shakes his head. "Steve has an unhealthy attachment to it."

"Whatever," Steve quips, eyes on the screen as the sound effects of a train wreck fills the room. "You don't get to cuddle with him tonight." 

Clint, who's perched on the armchair next to Nat, calls, "Can _I _cuddle with Mr. Flufferson? I'll treat him real nice."

Pietro takes a handful of un-popped corn and throws it at Clint's general direction. "Steve would never let you. You're like the flighty uncle no one trusts with their kid."

"When did we start talking about kids?" Clint shoots back, making a face. 

Nat has on a light scowl as she picks a kernel from her hair, and with an icy glare, deftly flicks it at Pietro. It hits him with an accurate trajectory, and Pietro yelps, hand shooting up to his cheek. "Keep the corn away from me," she says, brandishing a finger like a gun. It somehow looks threatening, Bucky thinks vaguely, and it's something only Nat can achieve. 

Wanda just snickers, cuffing her brother over the head. 

Bruce, curled up next to Wanda, smiles faintly. "Pietro, Nat's scared of corn," he says in a conspiratorial tone, and he sounds a little woozy and drunk, probably because of the drinks and empty cans powdered around on the carpeted floor. Which is good for him, because he's apparently immune to the effects of the glare Natasha lazily throws his way. Wanda nods pleasantly, hugs a pillow closer to her face and mumbles something incoherent. 

With a fond roll of his eyes, Bucky reaches around the pillows to pry a beer from Wanda's hands, taking a long swig from the bottle. "That's enough for you, child."

By his side, Tony stops and takes a break at shouting profanities and offering ill advice to the characters on the screen to pull the beer from him with a cheery smile. And because Tony's looking at him like that, with his dimples showing in his cheeks and his eyelashes long and dark, shadowing over his brown doe eyes, Bucky has no choice but to let it go. Steve sees it, and sniggers, because it is _so _utterly clear, that he is _fucked. _

And with a quick glance over at everyone in the room, Bucky assures himself it really won't be obvious if he kisses Tony right about now. Because he really, really wants to. It's all he's been thinking about since Tony wordlessly took his place inbetween Steve and Bucky, without any prompting from them. And Tony's flushed, his eyes so bright, and Bucky can't stop looking at his lips. Steve is saying something in Tony's ear, soft and slow and it must be _good _because Tony gives Bucky a quick look like he's thinking about doing something epic. 

And all Bucky can do is smile stupidly at that. 

Then Tony tips his chin, exposing the graceful line of his neck and it stirs something hungry and _want _in Bucky's chest at the sight, because Tony really would mark quite prettily. He licks his lips, his teeth. He still wants to kiss Tony. Tony's eyes are dim in the light as he twists a bit more and catches Steve in an open-mouthed kiss. And Bucky's heart is dropping, right to his feet as he feels himself getting hard. And by the clever look in Steve's blue eyes, the blond knows _exactly _what he's doing to Bucky. 

Bucky swallows back the lump in his throat, heat crawling up his shoulders and neck. It's not enough to quell the desires swimming in his head, the part of him that wants to bowl Tony over, wants to bite and mark, wants to kiss him senseless till Tony can't talk. Then he wants to do it to Steve, wants to make them both putty in his hands. 

Tony pulls back from Steve, breath hot, and flicks his eyes over to Bucky suggestively. 

Steve smirks in the darkness, like he's won a personal challenge. 

All of that washes out of his head the second Tony pitches forward and into _him, _into his arms, when Tony slots their lips together and the spark between them explodes into starry lights and everything goes silent except for Tony's heartbeat and his own. He tastes Tony, his mouth, and it's bliss, it's all sandalwood and cherries and mint and Tony moans quietly into Bucky's mouth as he lets Bucky takes control. Bucky growls, hands going desperately to Tony's waist, hauling the smaller brunet half onto his lap. They pull away a second later, for breath, and Tony's smiling a devilish smile.

"Is this what you call 'wooing'?" Tony asks, breathlessly, cocking his head to the side. 

Bucky just stares. 

Steve laughs, pressing from behind, and Bucky's breath hitches one more time as Steve presses a soft kiss onto his lips and murmurs regretfully. "I think he's better at wooing than us." 

Bucky's not disagreeing. 


	16. Chapter 16

He leaves Happy's lab around one in the afternoon, and goes back up to his room with Clint to take a much-needed post mechanic shower. Having finished fairly quickly, he's now on his way to meet Natasha and Sam. 

There isn't a way to properly describe the dreamy, fluid state he's in. 

When he moves through the halls, it's like Tony's feet aren't really touching the ground. His hands are buzzing for some unknown reason he will _not _google search lest they tell him he has a brain tumor, there's a half-smile that stretches on his face for no reason. His body is submerged in a warm blanket that makes his skin hum, and if Tony didn't know better, it would feel like his body is humming with _happiness. _

And he's never felt that way before. 

It's disconcerting, it's definitely worrying, and it's sending Tony's heart beating a mile per minute everytime he even thinks about the three of them together. Him, Bucky, and Steve. To Tony, it's something out of fairytale—the kind of thing they only report on the news, the kind of thing that it's so rare it's unbelievable. Like a unicorn, wearing a Nazi uniform and speaking German in Hitler's voice. Like, hey, _Breaking News: Steve Carter, notorious man suspected of being the ringleader of an organized crime family, his loyal hitman with a metal arm recently found in a gay threesome relationship with an unknown civilian! What blasphemy! _And the craziest part: the fact that _he's _the civilian, the normal, MIT Cum Laude student for three years in running ever since he stepped foot in the institution, who goes to the Cafe every morning to chug black coffee, is involved in a relationship with Bucky and Steve... it's mind-boggling. 

Tony nearly stumbles, distracted by his rushing train of thought. Blushing, he glances up quickly, hoping like hell no one saw the clumsy civilian trip over flat ground. Then he looks behind, because he swears, _someone is behind him breathing, _and right into the face of Erik Carter.

Who apparently has gained the ability to stalk unsuspecting men silently. 

"Tony," Steve's shorter, bulkier, evil-er carbon copy purrs, and honest to God Tony feels his balls crawl up back inside his body in one swift motion at the leering sound. 

"Oh," Tony says, in a dejected tone that he is fully aware of sparking a flare of annoyance in Erik's eyes. "It's you." He turns quickly, eyes trained on the hallway in front of him, heart picking up a fast beat. 

"Not so fast, little Stark," Erik's hand shoots out just as fast, wrapping around his wrist. "Is that the proper way to treat your host?"

Tony freezes, blood curdling in his veins. 

_Little Stark. _

And he is transported back to when his head was being slammed against Happy's marble tiles, to when his stomach hurt so much he couldn't even draw a single breath. Tony's mouth opens, catches, as the flash of a man in black sprints before his eyes, a glowing smile and a soft voice that says, '_Goodnight, Baby Stark'._

And he looks up, and Erik is staring right at him like he _knows. _"Sorry," Tony manages to croak out and hopes he doesn't sound as scared as he is inside. His hands start shaking, and Tony tries very, very hard not to give into his 'flight' instinct and start hauling ass towards the nearest door. "I've got to meet Natasha and Sam."

"I hear my good brother Steve," and Tony aptly detects a the sharp lilt of malice that spurs Erik's tongue whenever the other blond is involved. "Is out on a little excursion with his boyfriend. Pity they didn't take you with them, hm?"

"Pity they didn't take _you _with them," Tony snarks, shrugging his wrist free of Erik's grip. His skin tingles, like his body is disgusted with coming into contact with Oh-Blond-Potato-Man. "Now if you could just..." Tony trails off, making a big show of looking around over Erik's shoulder. 

Erik's jaw ticks, a muscle jumping, and throws Tony a proper evil glare. "You're a piece of work, aren't you, little Stark? You think you can come waltzing into _my _family, _my _territory, _my _world for free? You think you can just go wherever you like, in your little bubble of protection, and be blind to what this really is? You think you can ignore the fact that we are _criminals?_" and Erik is pacing now, coming right into Tony's space, and Tony would really _not _be freaking out right now except he's alone and Erik smells like apples. 

Tony. Hates. Apples.

_Now is not the time to be thinking about apples, _Tony scolds himself as his back gets pressed up against the wall, and Erik is standing nose-to-nose with him. "Well I did pay an entrance fee, so I actually didn't come in here for _free._" Tony says, keeping his voice steady as he stares Erik down. He cannot afford be to scared, not when the shark is two centimeters away and can smell blood. "I have the receipt. I do, you can check for it." and then because Tony has no filter, _cannot _control himself, he sticks his chin up and narrows his eyes to say, "I believe you'll need to stick your head _really _far up your ass to find it, but good thing you're already halfway there."

And Erik _snarls. _"I know about you three."

"What?" Tony shifts against the wall, tensing. "You mean me, myself and I? Oh, better yet, me and the two other Stooges? _Fuck, _you don't mean to say you know about me, Duey and Louie?"

"If Steve thinks for a second," Erik hisses, face contorting in barely suppressed hate. "That you're anything but a weakness, then I have bad news for you, little Stark." And he leans in close, making Tony's nose scrunch because _really, _gross apples, and murmurs in a gentle voice that sends shivers crawling up his spine, "Even toys have an expiry date. As pretty and fun to _play with_ as they are."

"I like to think I'm an optimist," Tony breathes out, and pushes Erik back with a heave of his arms. Erik looks surprised at the body contact, and Tony subtly falls into a defensive posture. "Because I'm the one who _makes _the toys. And even if I _am _a toy, a plaything for Steve and Bucky, I'm not the type you'd get tired of. I get tired of _you." _

Erik laughs. Tony can't help himself, winces at the grating sound. "Alright. You've got my attention."

"Since I keep seeing you everywhere, I think I already had it." Tony cocks up an eyebrow, watches Erik vigilantly. He is _not _going to die in some random hallway corned by a hunky blond potato. He might die because of his mouth, though. But that's never been a shock. It's the kind of death he wouldn't mind dying.

"What exactly do you plan on getting out of this?" Erik asks, ignoring his quip, leaning against the hallway languidly. "No, I want to know. This can go one of three ways. No, four. You're a civilian, and pretty much everyone in this compound knows. Now, you might be under Steve and Bucky's protection, but soon that's not going to be enough. We're _criminals, _Tony, we're the _Carters. _And while a blood Carter might have the good sense and honor not to touch a hair on your pretty head, one of our underpaid _employees _might just decide not to give a damn when everyone tires of you."

"Yeah, I know you're the Carters," Tony snaps, feeling like his throat's just been punched. Because they both know that Erik is right. "You might as well just have a neon sign on your forehead. I don't plan on getting _shit _out of this. I want to get through this with Clint, our heads intact. With Steve and Bucky, because I really like them. I want to go back to MIT, build a super large drone that shits out torpedoes, and then I'm gonna torpedo _your _ass."

"You want to know the three other ways this could end?" Erik says, calmly, in such a matter-of-fact voice Tony is aware of sounds just like a murderer before they list out the ways they're gonna kill you. 

"I'd rather not, thanks. I'll leave a comment box for any creative suggestions, though."

Erik goes quiet. His blue eyes have something cold in them. Something disconnected, like watching a robot function without its wires. The eyes are so similar to Steve's, but instead they promise a world of cruelty, a world of pain and brutality. Haunting to see Steve's brilliant, kind, warm baby-blues, and then to know the two are brothers. It's haunting to see two brothers so different, two worlds apart, haunting to place _Steve _in the same category as this man.

His eyes terrify Tony. 

"I see the world hasn't beaten it out of you yet," Erik says, voice softer than ever before Tony has to strain to even hear it. "Pleasure, little Stark." And then Erik leaves, strides out of there like he hasn't just spent the last twenty minutes spraying his Apple pheromones anywhere conceivable.

Tony lets out a huge breath, slumping against the hallway, mind racing. 

_Is he out to get me? He's right. What am I doing this for? What am I—_

He almost forgets he has to meet Natasha and Sam, who are probably with Clint. So he forces his feet to move, to put Erik in the back of his head, to save it. The hallways are a blur now, he's focusing on everything but. He blindly stumbles past two dark shapes, probably agents, and one of them tries to say something, but Tony doesn't hear it. Tony's never been one to get hysterical in the face of adversity, no, Stark men are made of _iron. _If he's going to cry about it, then he'll do it when he's at death's door and nowhere else. So he takes deep breaths, tries to think about what his mother would do, she'd stand tall, she wouldn't be _weak—_

"Tony?" Wanda's voice snaps him back like a vicious fish hook. "There you are. I was just about to come find you, Nat and Sam are already waiting in the room."

Tony yanks his chin up so fast he can hear an audible crack, and has a horrible feeling Wanda can _see _what's wrong. "Nope," he says, smiling a little too wide. "I'm here now. Sorry, I, uh, got lost."

He decides to keep Erik's surprise encounter to himself.

"Ah," she says, green eyes inquisitive, like she can tell Tony's not quite right but is kind enough to let them pretend like he is. "Nat was worried whether you were able to come up alone or not." _That's why I'm here, _goes unspoken. It takes a worrying second to process, because Wanda looks like she wants to ask and Tony can't come up with a good excuse just yet. 

"Well," Tony says with forced heartiness, moving forward, his heart going a little cold. "Steve and Bucky told me you moved Clint and I to like the top floor, right? Supposed to be super clearance and super safe? I'm not too worried."

"That's true," Wanda replies in a soft voice, her Sokovian accent bleeding through the edges. "The only people who have access to this floor are the blood Carters, the team, and only select top level agents."

"So this place is safer than the Pentagon," Tony says, shrugs a little. He's managed to shove _Erik _into that deep, dark place inside his mind where things go to die. And that is where Erik will hopefully stay, for the remainder of his stay in the compound. "Thanks for coming to get me."

Wanda offers him a little smile, and leads him into another blend of hallways Tony is too distracted to notice but files away in his brain anyway until they come face to face with two large oak doors, with a brazen door knob that looks too Victorian for the compound.

Wanda knocks the door in a series of strange little thumps that Tony thinks is some kind of code, and then takes a second to register her fingerprint before the door clicks open merrily, revealing a modern, futuristic cyborg-type high-tech command center. Tony stops, jaw hanging open in awe as he takes it all in. High, slating ceilings winding into a proper room with table screens, 40-inch image screens, holographic images, glittering gadgets and sleek leather armchairs that Tony can _feel _his butt yearning for. The room looks like an MIT engineer wet dream. On the left is an automatic door that slides just in time for Tony to glimpse something that looks like a high-tech training room complete with flashes of computer-stimulated assailants. 

"Nice place," Tony breathes out, walking in a little dazed. He wishes his MIT professors could come see, and maybe find it in their billion dollar school to build a lab just like this. 

Wanda follows, a smirk on her lips as she notes the fascination that is no doubt showing on Tony's face. "Let me introduce you to the team's HQ. We get our shit done here."

"What do you do?" Tony asks, swinging his gaze around every corner of the room, trying to commit every thing he sees to memory. It's a place he has no qualms that very few get to see, if they weren't in the business to begin with. "Control operations, mostly?"

"Yep," Wanda says, walking towards a large screen suspended on a wall and then tapping deftly with her nails. "We track people, we track shipments, everything, who moves where, why. We keep counts on all our businesses. We have people checking in and out, we gotta know every detail, where each agent is. Something we don't know, leads to a mistake, and a mistake leads to..."

"Prison." Tony says it for her, heart settling low in his chest.

Wanda nods. "Or worse." _It's usually worse. _

The room isn't filled to the brim with people, rather, it harbors a selective scattering of well-dressed men and women, men and women who instantly recognize him when they flick their eyes up for a millisecond before reverting their attention to whatever's more important. It should be creepy, that little 'oh' moment he sees going off on every face at the sight of him when he has never even seen any of these people outside this room, but then again it's a crime family and _of course _they keep tabs on their visitors. Or in Tony's case, strays. 

Tony catches a flash of a guy's screen that looks like some sort of gambling, wagering situation and gulps, because he's seen enough gambling to recognize it five meters away. The guy, a clean shaven blond with green eyes, promptly swivels the screen away and glares at him like Tony's committed a federal offense. Ironic.

He's never really come face to face with the fact, that like Erik says, these people _are _criminals. Bad people, maybe not, but illegal? Yes. And the very notion that the people he really, _really _likes, are criminals, Tony's heart sinks a little further down. He doesn't know what he's doing here. Sure, he works with Happy in his lab, works with energy and light and handles things that explode with the kind of passion you would expect from a three-year-old with a slinky, but what is he going to do when he goes back to his dorm room at MIT? What is he going to tell his teachers, who have probably notified the board of his disappearance over a couple weeks? 

Oh god, and _Clint. _Clint who works. Works for a living at the coffee shop, where will _he _be? Tony realizes, with an impending sense of vicious dread, that he may have completely ruined his and Clint's lives. His, Tony doesn't really care about. He's always been able to work with scraps, whatever little he has, to build something bolder and bigger and newer. Clint, who works an hourly wage just to pay rent, never finished College and probably will have to find another job is the one who could get fucked for this. 

Wanda touches his hand, startling him, and looks like she can tell Tony's having another freak-out. Yet again, she doesn't inquire, only nods towards an opening door. Tony deflates, feels a rush of gratitude for this woman he barely knows, and gives her the sincerest smile he can muster at this level of mental breakdown. 

Natasha and Sam come through the door, which leads to an adjoining pitch black room. Tony suspects the room is blocked, soundproof, and is probably super-secret. Natasha sees him, and her lips quirk in something if Tony didn't know better would say is a smile. She moves towards him, slow and elegant as a feline, and presses a soft kiss onto his cheek. Tony grins, blinking up at the redhead, a pool of warmth bubbling in his chest, replacing the burning dread and guilt. 

"About time, Tony," Natasha murmurs, green eyes pleased. "Was going to send the cavalry into your room."

"I was the cavalry." Wanda points out with a little flip of her wavy hair. 

Sam, a man Tony knows is one of Steve's dearest friends and one of the team members he's never actually talked to gives Wanda a fond look. "You did well," he praises with a soft lilt, and Wanda just laughs and rolls her eyes at the kind deliverance of sarcasm. 

"Sam and I have been coordinating on a project Steve asked us to take care of, so—"

"What's the project?" Tony interrupts, too flat for anyone's liking. He refuses to feel bad about asking it, knows that this question could get him killed with anyone else. But he needs to know. He _has _to know if Natasha's going to tell him she's been sent to put a bullet in someone's brain. He has to know if Sam's the one who's going to hold down a man while Natasha forces his head underwater until he says what they want him to say. He has to know if it could be Steve, and Bucky, with the countless pile of human corpses stretched out in front of them. 

The question throws Natasha off, sends a flash of surprise over her face, and Sam looks inbetween them, eyebrows slightly raised. Wanda doesn't seem too shocked. 

"A string of restaurants Steve has been single-handedly pushing forward," Natasha eventually says, in an even tone. "He wants it to be done before early June. Sam and I are in charge of renovating the process, finding the right people to take care of it."

Tony just stares at Natasha for what feels like an eternity, then looks at Sam, then looks at Wanda. "Restaurants?"

"Yeah," Sam breaks in, like he doesn't understand what's going on. Honestly, neither does Tony. "Didn't Steve tell you? He's been the family's pioneer for legalized business, been pushing for the Carters to expand into more 'reliable' methods of income."

Natasha is still watching him, her green eyes unreadable, so Tony looks to Wanda, who nods in agreement. "Steve is strangely insistent about it. He's already opened two restaurants, a pet day care center, and something to with children. I don't know," she says, shrugging. "I don't get involved too much. I stick to weapon runs."

"Don't you guys... do _illegal _stuff only?" Tony asks, the word 'illegal' coming out a squeak. He braces himself for the immediate backlash, the cacophony of voices berating him, maybe even the sound of a safety being flipped off a gun. He squints in a mixture of shock, suspicion and fear when the only reaction he gets is Sam's amused snort. 

Natasha's brows suddenly stop furrowing, and her features soften. "Oh, Tony."

Wanda laughs a little, pats Tony on the shoulder teasingly, and asks in a genuinely curious tone, "You think we only operate in a little box with the words 'Crimes Only' spray painted on the side?"

"Well, yeah. You're the Carter _crime _family."

Sam crosses his arms, and Tony's eyes immediately are drawn towards the bulging lines of muscle that are barely contained by his tight fitting shirt. Blushing, he looks up, and Sam chuckles. "Yes, we're the Carter crime family, and while some of us _do _do the things you think we do, it's not too extreme. Or we're not in that circle. You see, the Carters have separate branches, like a tree. Peggy is the head of it all, she's the one who knows everything, overlooks everything. She has a faction for dealing with the underhanded, black market stuff. That is not the thing _we _do. We do whatever Steve and Bucky do, because they're our in-commands. And Steve, even though he's supposed to replace Peggy soon, veers towards compiling Happy Menus for children rather than kidnapping a rival gang member and torturing him for insider information."

"Although I _have _done that before," Wanda unhelpfully interjects with a grim smile. "Got a little on my boots." then adds, "Blood."

Natasha throws her a displeased look, like _Wanda, hey, will you tone it down, our guest is having a mental breakdown. _

Tony whips his head towards Wanda, still in shock, and then gazes at her hands. Her smooth, pretty hands, and now great. He's imagining those very hands wrapping themselves around a man's throat and just squeezing the life out of him. He flounders for something to say, or maybe even laugh off the awkwardness, but zilch. It is the first time his brain has failed to provide him with something quick and witty to spout. 

Tony is disappointed in his brain. 

It never disappoints in the 'no filter' aspect, though, because the very next second he blurts out, "Then what do you all do?"

"Steve told you before," Natasha begins, gracefully sitting on a vacant leather chair. She looks like a proper villain, and Tony quickly dispels that thought. He _likes _Natasha. A lot. And now Wanda too. Oh mama, he is fucked. "We operate on a moral code, and that is, we never kill or hurt anyone we don't have to. We follow Steve's commands. We follow Bucky. We gather information the Carter family wants, we trade, we make deals, we find ways to make money. But usually not at the expense of someone's life."

"Right," Tony says faintly, blinking slowly at Natasha. He doesn't know how much to believe her. He wants to. 

"We're the good kind of mobsters," Wanda quips, cocking her head to the side. 

"What happens after this?" Tony asks, arms crossed, mind racing He knows Steve and Bucky are the good ones, but they're part of something so much bigger than he is. "What happens to me, to Clint?"

He watches Natasha and Sam exchange a look, a look that makes his heartbeat pick up a little faster. Natasha turns back to him, green eyes oddly gentle. "You'll have to talk to Steve and Bucky about that, _kotynok, _but I think," and she pauses, her hand reaching forward and her long elegant fingers brushing lightly against his cheekbones. "It is up to you."

Tony runs a hand through his tousled hair, suddenly feeling tired. "You sound like my kindergarten teacher when I tried to stage a revolution in nap time by holding in my pee when it was time to go." And he doesn't really mean to say shit like this, it just comes out sometimes, but he doesn't give a damn about it anymore. All he wants to do is see Steve and Bucky at the end of the day. 

Wanda snorts, eyes flicking up to him. "How'd that go?"

"Not well," Tony admits sheepishly, giving her a crooked smile. "I was made into an example to terrify my fellow kindergarten classmates into never rebelling by Ms. Alia."

"Damn," Wanda grins, shooting Natasha an amused look. "This guy's been through dangerous times. He'll fit right in with us."

"Wanda," Sam cautions.

Tony glances at her, eyes wide as his brain slowly processes her comment and becomes frankly aware of the tense silence that settles between them. He knows what she said. They all do. Wanda is just kidding, obviously. Because it can't be, because what she said sounds a lot like an offer to _stay. _

Wanda shrugs unapologetically. "What? Steve will probably tell him anyway."

Natasha shakes her head, face tightening. "That's a conversation best for the three of them, Wanda."

"Steve will probably tell me..." Tony echoes, exhaling noisily to alleviate his anxiety. He goes still for a second, and then, because he doesn't know what to do, looks to Natasha for advice. "Christ, Nat, Steve wants me to stay?"

Natasha's eyes narrow, and she moves forward. There's something in the way she moves, the deliberate pattern of her steps, that has Tony straightening up and letting his hands fall to his side. 

"Tony," she says. "You really should talk to Steve and Bucky about this."

Sam turns to Natasha, nodding along like he's thankful from being relieved from what would be a _very _awkward conversation. "Good luck, Tony. Nat, talk to you later about the project. Wanda." And then he leaves, walks towards the oak doors and disappears out into the hallway. Tony stares after the man, swallowing back the small lump in his throat, convincing himself he's _fine. _He's absolutely not freaking out about the prospect that Steve and Bucky could be asking him to _stay. _With them. 

Natasha touches the back of his shoulder, looking at him like she's afraid he'll snap. "I'm sure Clint would like to see you, he's been training," and she shoots a glance at the glass doors on the other side of the room that leads to something else. 

"Clint? What's he training for?" Tony asks, swiveling to follow Natasha, who motions towards the glass doors. He hasn't seen Clint since the night before, as they sleep together every night and then go down to breakfast together. But then Tony goes to Happy for mechanic work, and Clint goes to his sessions with Natasha and Sam and they don't see each other until lunch or evening. Clint hasn't said anything about _training, _though, and Tony waits for Natasha to buzz him into the next room to find out. 

"Oh, he's getting pretty good," Wanda says, taking that moment to literally scare the bejeesus out of Tony because she appears beside him from nowhere.

"Getting good at what?" Tony says, watching as the glass doors slide open and they go into a darker lit hall, flashing with LED lights and the distant hum of electricity. He looks around, takes into focus the glowing rooms filled with testing equipment. 

"At that." Natasha explains, tapping a panel on the wall and the light goes on in a chamber directly next to Tony, and he startles.

It's a two way glass, Clint can't see them. Clint is standing on a slightly raised platform, in an enclosed space. What really surprises Tony is the bow and arrow in his hands, sleek and cutting edge. Tony holds in his gasp, but he inches closer to the glass protecting his friend, placing his hands on the material cautiously. Clint draws the bowstring back taut with his hand, eyes tracking something Tony can't see. Until a flash of something bright red glimmers in the far distance, and Tony watches in awe as Clint releases the black arrow and it whizzes through the red sparks, which takes the form of a person. In a second, Clint reaches back and notches another arrow, aiming upwards and Tony follows the line of sight where another red target crouches, seemingly ready to leap upon Clint. 

Another arrow goes through that one, too, extinguishing the sparks in a faint burst. 

"What is he doing with that?" Tony demands, leveling a glare at Natasha and Wanda. "Are you teaching him to shoot arrows at people? You teaching him to _kill?" _

Wanda's eyes go bigger, as if offended by the remark. "What? No!"

Natasha looks at him, calmly. "No, we're not. This was his choice. He's been training with me and Sam, and when we saw how good he was with a bow and arrow..."

"You let him practice on fake humans, and then you're going to graduate him to the real thing?" Tony says, shaking his head, angry. Some part of him wants to be shitty about it, wants to fight about it because they just can't make his friend _a killer. _Not like that. Not with Clint. 

"Of course not," Wanda says, sucking on the inside of her mouth and throwing him a distracted, but no less tense gaze. "He asked for the program after he knew we had it. He's really good with the bow and arrow, Tony. Look."

Tony lets that hang between them for a moment, and then sighs, giving in and looking back at Clint. His friend is now leveling up, and the platform that had been flat has morphed into something resembling rocky terrain, and there are more red human sparks leaping towards him, some coming from different sides. Clint is crouched on the ground, hand moving like a blur to renotch his bow, aim, and fire. It's easy to see how immersed Clint has become into the scene, his eyes sharp with focus and beads of sweat trailing off his forehead and dripping off his nose. Tony can see it all. 

"He really enjoys it," Tony breathes, watching intently as Clint ducks a flying red human spark above him, aims, and another arrow whizzes through. He rolls, jumps back on his feet and there's a downright joyful grin on his face. "You trained him all that in a few weeks?"

"No," Natasha says, coming to stand beside him. "You see, he likes it. He's good at it, too. This was all him, Tony, I only had to teach him the basics. When was the last time you saw him doing something he liked and was this happy?

Tony chuckles at that, drawing a glance from Clint to her. "You're good. He was a barista before this."

Natasha nods, and he knows it's the answer she expected. She's always four moves ahead of him, at least. He's surprisingly okay with it. They both turn to wait expectantly as Clint stands up inside the chamber, waves a hand at the ceiling, saying something inaudible. The room powers down, the human red sparks disappear, and a door Tony's never seen slides open and with a whoosh of cool air Clint saunters out. 

"Tones," Clint says, grinning as he moves to hug him. "What do you think?"

Tony can tell just how _okay _Clint is. Because he's grinning, wide and happy, for the first time in, well, a long time. He hugs his friend back tight, grimaces at the sweat that clings to his shirt, puts his doubts in the back of his mind to smile at Clint. "I think it's great, Clint. Where'd you learn to shoot?"

"Ah," Clint says, breathlessly as he takes a small towel handed over by Wanda and smears it all over his face. He draws it back roughly over his short brown hair, and eyes Tony with a bright gaze. "Was a kid when I learnt it, back on my father's farm. Lost touch with it," and his eyes dim a little, looks distant. "But then I found out they had an amazing program here and... I had to try it." And he smiles then, giving Natasha a thankful hand clasp which she graciously accepts. 

"You're a natural, Clint." Natasha praises, letting go of Clint's hands. "I'm sure you'll go far with this."

"I hope so," Clint says, clutching the towel. Tony sees his fingers tighten. 

"You will, Clint." Tony adds, because seeing the slight fall on his friend's face physically pains him. Clint rolls his eyes, but seems pleased. And that's enough for him. 

"Go take a shower, you stink," Wanda says from somewhere behind Tony. She's playing with her phone, and glances up to point a long fingernail in Clint's direction. "Through to your left."

"You sure it's not your musky scent, Maximoff?" Clint counters, smirking, jumping away as soon as Wanda makes a step forward threateningly. He raises his hand to give Tony a small finger wave, blows him a kiss. "I'll see your ass when I'm done." 

"You have the project to help Sam with, don't you remember?" Natasha reminds. 

"Oh, right!" Clint says, rubbing the towel on his hair, then looks to Tony sheepishly. "Sorry man. They need my help with the restaurant stuff."

"It's fine, Robin Hood." Tony says with a shrug. He has things to do, anyway. 

Things concerning _Steve _and _Bucky, _namely. 

"Hey," Clint says, staring at him with comically large eyes. "I object to that name. I do not help the poor. I _am _the fucking poor."

"Robin Hood was poor too," Tony corrects, smiling. "But okay. Okay, Legolas, get out of here, you're stinking the place up."

"Amen!" Wanda yells helpfully from behind. 

Clint makes a face, but hurries through to the next room anyway. 

Natasha lets out a small laugh, cuts herself off when both Tony and Wanda turn to look at her. She shrugs, trying only halfheartedly to suppress a smirk. "You two are a dangerous combination," she says, tipping her head. "Maybe even more so than Tony and Clint."

"That's impossible," Wanda sniffs, returning her attention to her phone.

Then a Natasha's pocket buzzes, and she fishes her device out and takes one look at the screen, and then looks at him. "Tony, Steve and Bucky are back. They asked me to take you up to them." 

Tony straightens, heart jumping into his throat. "Already?"

"Looks like their errand got done early." Natasha says, meeting his worried gaze steadily. 

It doesn't take too long to return to Steve and Bucky's personal floor, but it feels like an eternity to Tony. He can't seem to make himself stay still, so he fiddles with his fingers, clears his throat, runs a hand through his brown hair. Natasha watches him do it all with a little confused expression on her face like she can't fathom why. Tony hasn't told anyone about his encounter with Erik, and he's not planning to either. Natasha clearly has no idea about the conundrum in his brain so they leave the elevator and Tony quite literally _bounces _towards the open lounge room, where he sees Steve and Bucky sprawled comfortably on the couch waiting. 

"Hey guys," Tony says, voice high and bright. He takes a deep breath and quickens his step, just as Bucky lifts his head from a pillow and grins. Steve, who is on the armchair opposite him jumps up and moves towards them, arms stretched out. Steve embraces him, and Tony closes his eyes, taking in the familiar pine-scent tinted with mint and leans into the hug. 

"Hi, Tony," Steve murmurs into his shoulder. Tony has to suppress a shit-eating grin from taking over his face as Steve lets him go to talk to Natasha, and crouches on the floor to greet Bucky. 

Bucky flops over onto his back, his legs hanging off the side of the couch. He looks at Tony with a lopsided smirk, brown hair falling into his face, and it makes Tony's heart drop _again. _"Hey, doll." He throws his flesh arm out, snags the back of Tony's grey shirt, and physically hauls the younger man to him. And then he presses a loud, smacking kiss to Tony's cheek. "How's your day?"

"Better now," Tony says, giving into the stupid smile growing on his face like flesh-eating bacteria. His cheek tingles, and it's really dumb because he's acting like a schoolboy. It's unbecoming of him. Tony has never been one to fall over and tumble down over his feet for a guy... or, in this case, _two _guys. 

He eyes Steve and Natasha out of the corner of his vision, sees Natasha say something quiet into Steve's ear that makes his shoulders go slightly rigid. Natasha steps back a moment later, waves at them, and calls out, "Hello, Bucky. Tony, I'll see you." 

"Thanks for the escort, Nat!" Tony replies, falling back onto his bottom and folding his legs into a cross on the carpet floor. Bucky shouts something incoherent at Natasha's retreating figure, and then hangs over Tony's form, still on the couch. Steve waves, says something indiscernible, and once the elevator doors shut again he's heading towards them, and Tony is smiling more. 

"It's good to see you," Steve says, looking down at Tony. Tony blinks, meeting his soft gaze, and wonders how it must feel to be as tall as Steve is. Does the world look different from up there? "Nat tells me you were with Happy in the morning, and then spent some time with her and Sam before coming to see us."

"Yeah," Tony says, angling his back to Bucky's direction and leaning backwards, letting out a breath. "Busy morning. I, uh, saw what's Clint been doing." Steve and Bucky wait for him to continue, their faces open and waiting. So Tony meets their eyes, and adds, "He's getting really good with that bow and arrow."

"I saw him train," Bucky says, nodding as he somehow becomes liquid and drapes himself over Tony's shoulder. His arms curl behind the back of Tony's neck, making him shiver as Bucky's fingertips trail over his collarbones and into his hair, gently pushing through the strands. Tony closes his eyes, neck falling back as Bucky's hands begin to knead at a knot in his shoulders. "He's actually good. Can you believe it, that scrawny Barton? He'll be like Sam in no time."

"If Sam has the tendency to constantly shit on IKEA for their shitty lamps because the light breaks when he's reading Pretty Women, then yes, Clint is like Sam." Tony admonishes with a light shrug, smiling when he hears Steve and Bucky chuckle. "What did you guys go do today?" Tony asks, raising his eyes to peer at Bucky then at Steve. 

"Well," Steve says, reaching out under the glass coffee table to take his sketchbook out. He hops over Bucky and Tony to settle himself on a beanbag a few feet away, and smiles lazily over the top of his book at Tony. "I went with Bucky to meet someone. Took a few hours," and his blue eyes lock onto Bucky with a strange sort of intensity. "And then we did some errands and now we're back here with you."

"Where we're supposed to be." Bucky teases, nosing the back of Tony's head affectionately. 

"I'm honored," Tony says, tipping his head back. "Bucky, you're like a giant dog. Seriously. I love it though."

"Giant honey badger is more like it," Steve puts in, squinting at Bucky as he fishes a charcoal pencil out of nowhere and places the point on paper. "Breath is just as stinky, burly, acts like an asshole to anyone he wants and doesn't get flamed for it."

"You're forgetting the part where I am the cuddliest bastard you've ever seen." Bucky says defensively, puckering his lips in Steve's general direction. 

"I have never seen a single soul look at a honey badger and think, _oh my, you know what would be a splendid idea? To cuddle that furball. Let me just call my funeral home real quick, and then we'll get right down to business._" Steve shoots back with an amused grin, waving the tip of his pencil at Bucky. 

"I'll cuddle you," Tony says with a laugh, reaching up to touch Bucky's face.

"That," Bucky tells Steve, jerking his chin at Tony. "That is what a supportive partner looks like. Take notes with that pencil, Steven."

Steve rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "I do a lot of things with this pencil but taking notes is not one of them."

"That sounds vaguely sexual," Tony announces to the room. "Steven, I will have to remind you we are PG-13 here."

"Bucky is R-rated all by himself," Steve sniffs mutinously to his sketchbook as his eyes narrow in concentration, his hand moving on the paper producing this soothing sound. 

"How chill is this?" Tony asks, settling back and stretching out his legs so they end up on top of Steve's, who looks up at him with a fond expression and then back to his sketchbook. "I bet your job's done for the day, isn't it."

"Mhm," Bucky hums noncommittally above him, fingers reaching up the nape of his neck to gently press the strained muscles there. "Perks of a family owned business, doll. We do the work we have to do, and when we're done, Steve and I come up here to relax or be with the team, or workout in the gym of something. There's a lot of freedom."

"And what do you do while Steve draws?" Tony asks softly, taking one of Bucky's hands from his shoulders and pressing a quick kiss to his palm. 

"I distract him." Bucky replies in a rumbling tone that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

"I hate every minute of it," Steve confesses to Tony with a shake of his head. "There I am, trying to draw, finish my sketchbook, and Bucky's being a very persistent attention seeker. That's why I'm so glad you're here," he says, giving Tony a smirk that has his heart fluttering in his chest. "You keep him occupied."

"So I'm the barrier between you and Bucky?" Tony says, hand going to his chest in a display of mock horror. "That's all I am to you, a buffer?"

"Let's make him jealous," Bucky says low and dark in his ear, and nips the side of Tony's neck to prove a point, and chuckles unrepentantly about it. 

"You're so fucking horny," Tony laughs out loud, shaking his head. "Steve, help."

"You're own your own," Steve says. "Thank you for your service, Tony."

"Why do you draw so much?" Tony says, peering over Steve's lap to get a look at the paper. Steve moves his hand to the side, to expose his drawing; and it makes Tony go speechless. Steve's drawn _them. _Him and Bucky, the exact scene, with Bucky lounged over the couch and suggestively close to him, with his hands in Tony's hair and arm on the back of his shoulders. It's beautiful, draws Tony's heartstrings taut because _no one's ever drawn him. _Not like that. Not the tender, graceful way Steve does, the dots on the paper converging to form a startlingly identical version of Tony and Bucky's face. "Steve, it's beautiful."

Bucky leans over to look too. "It is," he says, and grins. "He draws because he's amazing at it. He draws because it's part of his dream."

"His dream?" Tony echoes, glancing back at Bucky. 

"He wants to open a bakery cafe. Or like a tiny restaurant. Or a diner. Something like that," Bucky explains, pulling Tony back into him, and he goes willingly. "He wants to draw and do art and put it all up on the walls, and upstairs the diner cafe will be an art studio. In the mornings he'll open early, serve customers, talk to them with a fucking apron around his waist. That's what he wants." 

Steve stops drawing, places his pencil gently on the paper, and looks away, somewhere distant, and says in a solemn tone that Tony finally _understands,_ "No, the drawing...it's just my hobby."

Tony swallows, realizing it all now. Steve doesn't want to be the Carter family's leader after Peggy.

He's never wanted it. 

It's why he's so different to the rest of his family, so eager to do the right thing, to save lives, to protect others. It's why Steve has his team going off doing relatively un-mobstery things, off opening restaurants and pushing for legitimate businesses in the family. It's why he took Tony in, why he didn't let Tony and Clint get riddled with bullet holes when McCullough found out where they lived. 

Steve could've easily let Tony and Clint stay until they'd healed, sent them on their way with a death threat that if they ever snitched on the Carters, it'd be the end of them if McCullough didn't get them first. 

Tony closes his mouth, feeling like he's finally seen it, finally found the missing piece of the puzzle. 

"You want to do all that?" Tony finally says, his voice tentative, shocked but _understanding. _Of course Steve wants to do everything Bucky just said. "Steve, that's..." _Amazing. _

"Impossible," Steve tells him, voice falling flat. He picks up his pencil, doesn't meet Tony's eyes, and goes back to sketching.

Bucky lets out a long breath above him. "Not impossible, Steve. It's your dream."

"A dream I can't have," Steve says, looking up. His blue eyes are stormy now, filled with _regret. _Tony bites his bottom lip, heart aching, all he wants to do is draw Steve into a tight hug. "So don't talk about it. I have _responsibilities. _And duty."

"You don't have to do it," Bucky murmurs, hands stilling on Tony's shoulders. "There are alternatives."

"No," Steve bites out sharply, through gritted teeth. There's a tense silence, then Steve's shoulders slump like he has no more energy and he deflates, letting out a sigh. Tony inches closer, and leans next to Steve, doesn't know what he can do to help. Bucky stays on the couch, watching them with thoughtful pale blue eyes. "There aren't. Sharon left the business a long time ago, no one would accept her leadership now. It's up to me. Peggy wants _me._" 

_There's no one else,_ is what Steve is saying. 

"Why does there need to be one leader?" Tony asks, taking Steve's limp hand and curling his fingers over his palm, gently smoothing over the skin. "Why can't... there, let's say, be a team?"

"What do you mean?" Steve says, eyebrows arched. "The team?"

"Yeah," Tony nods, smiling as Steve's fingers hold him back. "The team."

"You mean Natasha, Sam, Wanda and Pietro?" Bucky says, sitting up straight. His dark hair hangs by his forehead, framing his face. "Steve, he's right. Natasha, she's been with us since you and I have been nothing but dumb teenagers frolicking about. She knows everything we know. Everyone knows _her. _We've literally been relying on her for like a century to run this place. Sam's like everyone's favorite guidance counselor, Wanda is like the club's most effective bouncer, and Pietro knows how to run the ops." And then there's excitement in his pale blue eyes, lighting up his whole face. "Steve, why not?"

"That's crazy," Steve snorts, looking from Bucky and Tony like he can't believe it. "They can't..." and he trails off, incredulously. "The Carter family. It's led by _Carters. _I'm a Carter. Erik is a Carter. Sharon is a Carter. Peggy won't let anyone but a Carter take control."

"You can talk to Peggy," Tony says, moves into Steve's space to press a soft kiss to his cheek. "You deserve to live the life _you _want, Steve."

"It doesn't work that way, Tony," Steve mumbles back, pressing their foreheads together. Tony stills, sadness overwhelming his chest as Steve closes his eyes, a bodily shudder going through. "Not for me." 

"Sweetheart," Bucky says, swinging his legs off the couch and loping towards them. He throws himself onto the beanbag, landing half on Steve and half on Tony. The two other men yelp in surprise, and Tony scrambles to rescue his right arm from being crushed in time, laughing. "It can. We can _make _it work for us. You know I'll follow you anywhere."

"You can't just leave this kind of life," Steve says, voice small as he gazes up at both of them, blue eyes impossibly clear and earnest. "It's not like I can wake up tomorrow and decide, you know what, screw this. Screw the family. I'm the _heir_."

Tony glances up, brown eyes sharp. "And what makes you think you can't have that other life? Why can't you have _both? _Think about it. The team can manage the family on the ground, they can run the ops, run the whole thing. They can just come to you when they're really stuck or they need some advice. You'll just become the figurehead, like the name of authority people hear and think, oh, that's right, that's the guy who's in charge of it all. Better stay in line so he doesn't shoot our asses."

Bucky laughs, sits back onto Steve with a thump. "You'll become the next Queen Elizabeth. You definitely look the part already."

"You saying I'm old and blond?" Steve says, eyes crinkling in a sweet smile. 

Tony pats his arm consolingly and tells him, "Nah, you'd just look good on horseback." 

"I want to do that." Steve says, head slumping forward to rest on Tony's shoulder while his body curls into Bucky's embrace. It feels like they're fitting together, seamlessly, falling into place and Tony closes his eyes, wants to remember the moment. "I want to wake up early in the morning, bake some bread, put it out front and go work in my art studio until afternoon. I want to paint, maybe sell my art," and he laughs, a self-deprecating sound that makes Tony wince. "If anyone wants it."

"I know tons of people who would want it," Tony murmurs, nosing into Steve's soft blond hair. "But they're all in the broke college kid community club so I would lower the price a little bit."

"I'll give away free bread," Steve replies quietly, blue eyes bright like he's imagining a world where he actually gets to do it. 

"You're gonna be the most popular diner in town if you do that," Bucky promises, snaking his arms around Steve's waist and tightening his hold in a half-hug. "It's okay, Stevie."

Tony stays quiet now, still pressing his nose into Steve's hair. It smells like strawberries, makes his heartbeat skip again. It never seems to stop doing that when Steve and Bucky are around. He hates seeing Steve's face open and eyes wide, unhappy and dejected at a life he knows he can't have. He wants to tell Steve that it'll be okay. They huddle closer, Bucky from the back with his pale blue eyes fond and gentle, Steve's breathing has evened out, and the all three of them are close, in the kind of comfortable silence you can only get with people you trust with your life. 

Tony thinks about it, really, then. 

He trusts them with his life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late post guys, been quarantined and sick :( Hope you all enjoy, leave a comment and a kudos! Tell me what you think, or what can be done better, or what y'all think will happen next!
> 
> Much love <3
> 
> EDIT: please ignore if this story goes on the front page once again, this has been a recurring problem I don't know how to fix, very sorry. It happens when I edit my earlier chapters and somehow it updates the entire story.


	17. Chapter 17

When Bucky had taken him to meet Niki Rosten, Steve had been open minded. Well, that's what he wanted to think of himself as. But he had also been reserved, careful about what he was going to say, and when Bucky had taken him to the abandoned warehouse at the edge of the city, next to the discarded construction mess of a subway, his left hand had settled on the gun tucked on his waist and never lifted. 

Bucky had dismantled the steel door with a four-digit code, and turned the heavy brass lock with a matching key. Then he had kicked the door open, flapping his hands like a distracted flamingo at the small explosion of dust at the intrusion. Steve's hold on his gun had tightened, apprehension growing into a bitter ball at the bottom of his stomach. He couldn't help wondering whether he should call in to one of his agents, tell them to notify Peggy herself. He wondered whether Peggy should know. 

Then Bucky had gallivanted inside, yes, _gallivanted, _like a golden retriever searching for his tennis ball. And then a bullet had buried itself about two inches from Steve's head in the aluminium wall sheet behind him, barely missing Bucky's skull, and Steve promptly decided that it was a good idea his aunt wasn't there.

Niki Rosten had vaulted over a dusty countertop, gun drawn, eyes tracking every movement they made. Steve's gun was already out, aimed directly inbetween Rosten's eyes. It would only take the wrong kind of breathing from her to convince him to pull the trigger. He had tensed, sweeping his gaze over Rosten. 

She was strong, well built, with muscled shoulders and lithe legs. Rosten was wearing a greasy tank top, and a cross lay on her tan skin. Her amber eyes were sharp, perhaps too sharp for her own good, and it was enough for Steve to know that if this whole thing ended in a shoot-out, at least one of them would be going down with her. The knowledge did nothing to ease his nerves, and Bucky had certainly been of no help. From the corner of Steve's eye, he saw Bucky lean backwards on the balls of his feet, place his hands on his hips, and sighed like Steve had just asked if they could go to Disneyland. 

"Alright, alright," Bucky had announced, stepping between them with his hands held out in the universal gesture of 'calm the fuck down'. "Niki, that's Steve. My boyfriend, my snuggle partner, dude who makes pancakes for me in the morning. If you shoot him, we might have a problem. Steve, this is Niki, real name Nicole, and shooting _her _will make our one hour drive here wasted."

And then because Steve was a good guy, who kept his wits about with him at all times and was always the peacekeeper, he lowered his gun first. He never took his eyes off her, though. Bucky let out a small breath, and grinned. 

Niki had narrowed her eyes and a small smirk upturned the corner of her mouth. "Well," she drawled, placing her gun on the table next to her. "I wouldn't want your gas to be wasted. Hi, I'm Niki, and if either of you call me Nicole I'm going to wipe the dusty floor with your ass and hope one of you are asthmatic."

Bucky had smiled, grim and deadly. "She's my sister from another mother."

And _that _introduction had led to _now. _

"That's not going to fucking work," Niki scoffs, leaning over the large maps on the table in the middle of the room. "That plan is going to end with at least one of your heads blowing off, and about a dozen dead bodies on either side."

"As long as one of them is you," Steve mutters, shooting a spiteful glance at the brunette. "My plan is _fine._"

"My father isn't stupid," Niki says, spreading her hands out wide on the crumpled map. She snags a wooden pencil from Bucky's hand, and then crouches to circle several spots on the surface. "He'll be so heavily armed and protected nothing short of sending five Mexican bulls through the barricade is going to leave a space for you two to slide in and kidnap him or kill him." She pauses, as if waiting for Steve to interject, and he will _not _rise to to occasion so he stays mulishly silent. Niki shrugs, and continues. "You want to catch him in transport, not while he's stationary. If he's moving, sure, he's going to have armed guards with him, but there's more of a chance for us to lure him into a trap."

"A trap in the city?" Steve says, already shaking his head. It's not something he ever wants to encourage, if it takes place in the city where people, innocent civilians could be harmed. "McCullough won't take the bait if we lead him to the outskirts. And if we're in the city, we could get people _hurt."_

"Who are you, Florence Nightingale?" Niki mocks, glaring at him hotly. "You're in the mafia, Steve, people get hurt all the time. We've all killed people, don't kid yourself."

"I'm not putting anyone who isn't involved in this in danger," Steve growls back, raising himself to his full, brawny height and towers over Niki. Bucky is almost as tall as he is, and more muscled where Steve is leaner. It's an intimidation tactic, and he usually doesn't have to do this, use his size as a way to make himself more threatening, in command, but then again Niki isn't one of his agents who can be cowed into submission with a stare. "You get innocents killed, you're leaving me and my family out of this."

Bucky clears his throat meaningfully, and Steve looks at him, and they have a silent conversation of eyebrow raises and facial expressions that have Niki sighing impatiently. "Niki," Bucky begins to say warily.

"No," she responds sharply, and whirls back to Steve. "You can't expect all of this to go down without people dying or whatever. You're not Superman, Rogers, so this savior cape you're wearing needs to go if you want to take my father down. If it gets the job done, it's _happening."_

The anger comes hot, fast and boils up through his chest. It spreads through his arms, up his shoulders and neck, and Steve grits his teeth in an effort to remain calm and levelheaded. He won't let this woman get under his skin so easily. Bucky is worried, eyebrows furrowed, but Steve waves his concern away. 

"If you want my help," Steve says with the kind of steel rippling under his tone that lets just how dangerous he can be bleed out into. "Then you will play by my rules. I will not have innocent civilians hurt in McCullough's capture. We'll find a way to draw him close to somewhere remote."

Niki stays silent for a long moment, then blinks at him, the aggression fading from her stance. "You realize there's more chance you, Bucky and whoever you're bringing will get hurt. He might realize something's wrong, call in backup faster than you can scratch your armpit."

"We can handle it," Steve says brusquely, letting the tension drain from his shoulders heavily. 

"Yeah." Bucky nods in agreement, seemingly relieved now that he's sure Niki won't jump over the table to stab his boyfriend, and Steve won't retaliate by jamming a pencil in her neck to prove either point. 

Niki frowns, a harsh line appearing inbetween her eyebrows as she glances away, but not before Steve catches something intelligible flashing across her face faster than she can school her features back to annoyed calm. 

Steve twitches unhappily, spreading his feet wider in an attempt to try and feel stabilized.

He can't tell if Niki is concerned for his and his team's wellbeing, or by the planning of her father's death. He can read people like a book, can what they want to say by their body language and gestures. Niki is an exception to this, and Steve doesn't like it. 

"Let's say we get him," Bucky interferes, taking his knife and scratching a light stick man into the tattered wood of the table surface. It's unbearably macho, and so mobster-like that despite the mood of the room, Steve nearly laughs and wishes Tony were here to poke fun at it. "We take him back to base. Or a secluded place like this one. And we interrogate him to know exactly what the hell he's playing at, coming into our territory, buying _our _weapons, and intercepting our shipments. We ask him about Zola. Zola's supposed to be in North and South Cali, but we've been getting reports of increased activity near our borders and cozying up with McCullough."

"My father's not going to give up shit," Niki tells them in a tone that suggests reluctant pride. "You can cut his fingers off, threaten to cut off his dick, but he won't tell you anything."

"Yeah, but now we've got something we didn't have before." Bucky says, taking his knife and pointing the glinting edge at her. "_You."_

When Niki falters for even a second, Steve sees it. He can tell it surprises her, but with their line of work, it really, really _doesn't. _He glances at Bucky, eyes a little wide, because this is what should show her true intentions. If she refuses to manipulate her father, and yet she tells Bucky she wants to see him dead, then Steve has no choice but to end _this. _Whatever strange alliance they have with a rival's daughter. 

Steve's killed before. He's taken a gun, shot a man between the eyes without flinching and gone to sleep that night without terrors. But it had always been for a cause, with absolute proof of what the person had done and why they deserved to die. It was something that was necessary, and Steve had never recoiled from the weight of his duty to his family. 

But he doesn't know if he can take this woman, with the flinty eyes and strong jaw and sharp tongue that can take up arms against even Bucky and force her to kneel before him and take the shot. 

Which is what Peggy will most likely order him to do for the sake of cutting off loose ends. 

Niki shakes her head, pursing her lips. "That's true," she responds. "Okay. You bring me into the warehouse, force me down. You take a gun and point it at my head, and demand the bastard tell you everything you want to know or you'll empty your mag in my skull. It's a sound plan. But I don't know if it'd work with my father."

"Come on," Bucky says, pale blue eyes glittering. "Every father loves their kid."

"If you didn't notice," Niki retorts, looking up. "He's not exactly a normal father. He killed my _mother," _and her voice goes ragged with grief, deep and still so freshly _stung _it makes Steve close his eyes for a second. He knows the feeling, and aches for this stranger. "And he left her behind, in a burning building, took me with him and when I asked where the hell was my mother he said she was collateral damage." She breathes out, long and shaky. "He'll say that's all I am to him too. Collateral damage."

"You're his daughter," Steve finally says, the pain in the air nearly palpable. The way Rosten had lost her mother pricks him, it burns his lungs to even imagine of anyone he loves in the same position. "He won't be able to look you in the eyes and watch you get shot without doing something."

"Maybe," Niki says quietly, tapping the pencil. "But are you willing to risk it? Once he's missing, the clock is on. There's contingency plans in place for that. People trained to find him if he goes missing. You'll have two hour tops, maybe up to four if you're lucky. Half a day if my father put the ones with half a brain missing in charge. Then they'll find this warehouse, probably listed on some poor sap's housing list with a connection to you two, and they'll riddle this place with bullets to get to my father."

"This place is hard to find," Bucky says, squinting at Niki with what looks like embarrassment. "I bought it under a fake name, fake ID, and the rent goes to an offshore shell account belonging to a Sam Jefferson."

Steve turns to look at his boyfriend. "_That _Sam Jefferson? Buck, for a whole month I thought you were cheating on me with a guy you kept signing checks off to! I thought you met him in a rundown bar or something, and he was dirt poor, but you felt bad for him and—"

"What?" Bucky asks, bewildered and shocked in the middle of his laughter. He leans over, lays a heavy hand on Steve's shoulder and bursts into another fit of laughter. Steve just stares at him, mildly offended and pretends to be heartbroken. "You thought I was cheating on you with some lad called _Sam Jefferson? _Steve, I've got standards. I'll find someone with the first name that's not _s._"

Niki chuckles, then her face closes like she forgets she isn't allowed to show happy emotions. "Getting off topic," she warns, settling into a mask of indifference Steve has become acquainted with. "Even if this place is hard to find. Once you let my father go, he'll do everything he can to burn you and your family down," and the look she gives Steve is grave and pitiful like when Steve receives a phone call saying the compound has been destroyed it'll be exactly what she expects. 

"And that's not what you want." Bucky cocks his head patiently. 

Steve glances between the two of them, can tell by the straight line Niki's shoulders snap into it's something she's been fantasizing about for a long, long time, the way her amber eyes take on a little glow. 

"No," Niki admits, gives Bucky a long look. "I told you when I met you. I want to see him dead."

"Then the Carters will have a gang war on our hands," Steve points out ruefully, running a hand through his blond hair uneasily. "It's not in my family's interest to take part in a gang war. Especially with Zola still hovering on the backgrounds, we won't be able to deal with two hits from two powerful organizations."

"Then I'll kill him, on my own," Niki says, face irritated and unhappy. It hits Steve when he wonders why exactly she's so desperate to have her father killed all of a sudden. Bucky's told him that she used to belong to a group of mercenaries, working for Zola, defecting from under Carlston's control and now she's gone lone wolf herself, leaving the merry band of Rogues to Zola's ruthless command. The timing... it's setting something in his brain off. 

Not for the first time since he met her, he can't ignore the niggling sense of doubt in the back of his mind, the one that whispers, _what if she's the trap? What if she betrays you all?_

And Steve knows that a gut intuition is enough to act on most of the time. Peggy herself has told him countless stories of how she's killed a man based on a gut feeling, and saved her whole squad from blowing up because the guy had a bomb strapped to his chest. Bucky trusts his gut with a determination Steve only sees when his boyfriend is hungry and on the prowl for a particular juicy set of burgers and fries. 

But Bucky believes Niki Rosten. 

She has the motive, the skills, the pure rage and grief to get her own father killed. 

Without her, there's very little chance of capturing McCullough, and even less so if he ends up dying and the Carters are blamed. If that happens, McCullough's people will wage a war on his behalf, and if Zola was on McCullough's payroll, so might he. 

It's a risk Steve can't afford. 

The Carters are strong, hold a fearsome reputation, have controlled New York and the surrounding areas for a long time. But even they might not fare well against the forces of both McCullough and Zola. Unnecessary bloodshed, death counts, pain and terror are just byproducts of the kind of war that would ensue.

Niki Rosten. Steve wonders, _is it worth it to trust her?_

Because it's something Steve has never been able to wrap his brain around, the very notion that a child could kill their own parent in cold blood, no matter the crime done to them. He knows that in a very different situation, perhaps if the situation was just as dire, he might be able to stomach killing Peggy, and even _that _Steve knows will be just as impossible. But he could never kill his own mother, and just thinking of the possibility wrenches his heart in a blow of agony and despair, steals the breath from his lungs for a brief horrible second.

He'd sooner shoot himself. 

"What do you mean, kill him yourself?" Bucky asks curiously, draws Steve's attention back to him. 

"I mean once you guys let him go, he and I will get back to the city. If he does things according to the plan. And then once his people know he's back, out of reach from the Carters, I'll take him hostage. And then using his life as my bartering chip, I'll guarantee myself a scott-free way out of this shot to hell city and then I'll empty my fucking gun in his head and disappear. It'll be filed as an hit job. Done by the least likely person, but the most capable with the most motive. You guys won't even be mentioned, and even if you are, I'll take responsibility. They'll think it was me all along."

She was willing to do all of that for them? Steve frowns, suspicion mounting in his brain. So he voices his mistrust. "You'd be willing to do that for us?"

"It's not entirely for you," she answers evenly. "_I _want him dead. So I'll take responsibility for it." 

It reassures him up a little, that Niki recognizes exactly what it entails if the Carters are found to be associated with McCullough's impending death. But of course she does, she lives in the world, was raised by the man in question. She's as pragmatic as they are, even more so. 

"Wow," is all Bucky says, a little faintly, but he does step a little farther away from Niki with a shifty look on his face. 

_Very subtle, _Steve tells Bucky with a fond roll of his eyes. Bucky snorts. 

"You know the thousand different ways that plan could go wrong?" Steve turns to Niki, raises a skeptical eyebrow at the brunette, expecting a thorny remark thrown back in his face. "You'll be hunted for the rest of your life."

"I'm counting on it," Rosten replies, mouth curving in a toothy smile. On her face, it looks downright terrifying. "I'll be ready for anyone who dares to come for me."

"You're brave," Steve says quietly, nods at Niki.

She returns the gesture, eyes flashing with something he can't quite read again. 

Bucky shakes his head a little, looking distantly impressed at her lack of self preservation instincts. It could rival that of Tony's, and if the smirk Bucky sends his way is any indicator, Bucky's thinking of the exact same person. "I'll attend your funeral. I'll have a nice bouquet of roses for you."

"Roses are overrated," Niki says, clucking her tongue. "I'll take lilies, thanks."

"Not that I would know," Steve mumbles, just as Bucky moves to stand beside him. Steve draws a lazy line down the back of his boyfriend's muscled thigh, relishing in the moment of contact. 

"Hey," Bucky says, scandalized. "What's that supposed to be mean? I buy you flowers."

"Yeah, like a whole decade ago."

"Has to be in the recent month to count, Barnes." Niki drawls lazily, and surprises Steve by joining his side. She looks at him with a bored expression on her face that Steve is pretty sure translates to a smile in normal human language. 

It gets him thinking again. He doesn't trust her, not yet, not within an inch of his life. Should he really be willing to drag his family into this mess, without truly knowing Rosten? The possibility of betrayal isn't slim, and the outcomes could be devastating. McCullough's capture would be the beginning of a new game, a dangerous game where the rules and all bets are off. 

Steve could lose... he could lose people he loved. 

"Fine," Steve relents, interrupting the flow of conversation between Bucky and Niki he hadn't been listening to. "Let me plan this with my team, go over the details. I'll have to tell Peggy, Niki, you understand that?"

What he's asking her to understand, what goes unspoken, is _if I tell Peggy and she decides you're a wildcard and sends me to kill you, I'll probably have to do it. And even if I don't do it and Bucky doesn't do it, she'll send someone anyway._

"She _is _the leader of the Carters," Niki admonishes with a light shrug but the look in her eyes tell Steve that she does understand. "I don't mind you telling her, since you probably can't authorize a high profile mission like this without her. But maybe tell her not to kill me, or something. You know. Whatever suits you."

"Bucky will keep you in contact," Steve tells her, gives her a small, brief smile. 

He and Bucky exchange a worried glance, and something heavy settles itself in the back of Steve's throat. He knows Peggy won't like it, will be all the silent doubts in his mind magnified times ten and out loud. She will demand Niki Rosten be brought into Carter custody, perhaps as a playing chip against McCullough himself. Or she'll order for Rosten's death, because Peggy Carter is known for eliminating any wildcards she has in the game. 

And while Steve is well aware that Niki was a mercenary (or is?) for years, perhaps even the best of the best because she worked for Carlston at one point—and he can't deny the fact that she has most likely been responsible for murdering innocents, or whoever she was hired to kill—he really doesn't want to hurt her. 

It's a trait that had manifested in Steve's early years, and earned him nothing but scorn from some people. Erik's voice fills his ears, blanketing his body like some sort of ghostly presence, whispering maliciously _you don't have what it takes to be in charge, Steve. Aunt Peggy, can't you see that? I should be leader. I do what needs to be done, no questions asked. _

_You put Steve in charge, and I swear it, the Carters are done for. _

He's still distracted when they go home, even when they see Tony and his whole face lights up and his beautiful brown eyes catches Steve in a heart-stopping smile over Bucky's shoulder as he moves in to join the embrace. Bucky hooks an arm around Steve's neck, drawing him closer, and a smaller hand reaches around to snag around Steve's waist as Tony burrows in. 

It gets easier to breathe, then. 

Steve closes his eyes, chin on top of Tony's mussed head of soft brown hair, and Bucky's steady, strong presence lulls him to sweet calm. It doesn't take long for his worries to die down to a steady thrum, taking refuge in the back of his mind. 

"Missed you guys," Tony mumbles with his face smushed into Steve's chest. "Nat keeps trying to curl my hair and put makeup on me. Sam is of no help, he's an accomplice to the crime. Clint just ate marshmallows and laughed, the fucker. Also Steve, the hug your pecs are giving me could kill a man."

He startles out a laugh, pleasantly surprised. "Missed you too, Tony."

Bucky sniggers, voice dropping to a low whisper. "Steve's pecs can do more than kill men. They can sing and dance, too."

Steve throws his boyfriend a glare that lacks the proper heat. "And _Bucky's _mouth is a world renowned expert at talking nonsense."

"Nonsense," Tony echoes, with a delighted grin as the three of them release from the hug. It makes Steve feel all buzzing and warm, _content, _because both of the men he loves—and then his head spins, backtracks, and Steve swallows thickly. Well. He can feel his heart thudding hard against his chest. _Likes. _He likes Tony, that's all. He doesn't lo—and then he tunes in just in time to hear Tony's light teasing, "I know of no other adult who can pull off saying _nonsense _like a British grandmother." The blood rushes to his cheeks as he thinks about what he _almost _thought, and hopes like hell his cheeks aren't burning red. 

"We compared him to Queen Elizabeth once," Bucky drawls with an easy wink that has Tony's face do all kinds of happy things, and Steve forces himself to focus on that instead. "The similarities do not stop at his pecs, hair and job."

It puts him at ease, to know that even when people like Niki Rosten can throw off his game, Tony is as easy to read as a children's book. He wears his emotions open and raw on the sleeve of his arm, bares his heart open for the world to see and it should be _dangerous, _Steve should teach him to protect himself, to build walls up so high so Tony will be safe but he can't bring himself to change Tony. 

Tony is beautiful, he laughs too bright and too loud, smiles too sweet and is too smart for his own good.

He is rare and perfect and Steve will never try and change him. 

"It's time," Steve says, sneaking a peek at his watch. "It's almost four thirty, Buck."

"What," Tony asks, looking between them curiously. "What's happening at four thirty? Are you guys gonna ditch me again? Because I won't stand it. Nat and Clint will kidnap me against my will again, and Sam plays tag-team with them. _Not happening. _I will follow you guys, like some kind of deranged gecko. I'm sticky and used to hardship."

"Used to hardship?" Bucky says, raising his eyebrows. "You mean running out of black coffee?"

Tony scowls, like Bucky's offended him on some personal level. "It's a special kind of suffering, okay. Without black coffee I'm like a lima bean without water. I slowly die of dehydration, and shrink upon myself like a miserable curl of weed. So what's happening at four thirty?"

"That's a," and Bucky seems to search for the right words without erupting in laughter. "Colorful description. You know, now that you point it out, you are _such _a lima bean, Tony. Fuck's sake."

"Four thirty is my evening run," Steve says. The energy is already sparking through his limbs, at the mention of his beloved exercise. He loves to run, feel the wind in his hair, the burn coursing through his legs and know with absolute certainty that no matter what happens with the world he can run and keep running until he collapses. "Bucky comes with me too most of the time. And best part, _you're _invited too, Tony."

It's almost hilarious the way Tony's eyes go comically wide and he starts shaking his head, slowly retreating from them. "Yeah, uh, nope. I don't run. I can watch, sure, if you're one of those exhibitionist runners. But I have shit stamina, I can do bursts of speed but I end up tripping. And not the good king of tripping, where you fall on your hands and get back up—"

Steve pitches forward and snags the front of Tony's shirt, gently drawing him back. 

"There's a _good _kind of tripping?" Steve challenges , grinning as he and Bucky begin to walk towards the elevator that takes them up to their private room. "Tony, I know you can be clumsy, but running isn't _hard. _I'll teach you," he offers, smirking at Bucky as he presses the button leading to their floor. 

"I'm not falling flat on my face in front of you two," Tony declares staunchly behind them. "I can't run. I'm a deadweight, I'll only bring the mission down, you guys don't want me there."

"If the mission is to keep you in vigorous good health," Bucky interjects, leaning close to Tony and noses his way down the brunet's neck. Steve catches his boyfriend's suggestive gaze in the reflection of the elevator door, and sighs, trying not to laugh as Tony makes a strangled noise and gracelessly flounders, pushing Bucky away. "Then I would say it's kind of hard to complete without you."

"I'm perfectly healthy," Tony snorts defensively, pushing past him and Bucky the second the elevator doors open. Tony all but runs into the living room, taking refuge on the couch and balefully glares at them. "Take my heart pressure or whatever. You'll find I am disease and obesity free." 

One look at Bucky's twitching mouth and attempt at self control and Steve can tell he wants to make a joke about being disease-free. Specifically, sexual diseases. He's proud of his boyfriend for not giving into temptation, and communicates so by pressing a light kiss on Bucky's lips as he passes on his way to the cabinet behind Tony. 

"Come on, Tony," Steve says pleadingly, widening his eyes in Tony's direction as he fishes a grey shirt and loose shorts from the drawer. "Please? It'll be fun."

Tony meets his gaze, then visibly deflates. "That's just not fair, Steve. Your baby blues are irresistible and you know it."

"Why is it always Steve who gets the compliments around here?" Bucky whines, face falling into a pout as he reaches out an arm to deftly catch the clothes Steve chucks his way. "I think I'm getting deprived."

"_Steve _gets the compliments because _he _doesn't fuck with a guy's horniness in the elevator by breathing right into a guy's _neck._" Tony deadpans, reaches blindly behind him, finds a small pillow, and lobs it across the room into Bucky's face. Steve grins to himself when he hears Bucky's outraged squawk. 

And then silence descends onto the room when Steve peels off his shirt, folds it neatly, and places it on the coffee table in front of Tony. He's not usually shy, because it used to be just him and Bucky and they'd do anything around each other without shame or embarrassment. But now Tony's here, and Steve desperately wants to impress him. Wants him to, well, from a quick glance at Tony's awestruck face, look at him the way he's looking now. 

"I'm allowed to kiss you, right," Tony says, voice coming out scratchy and thin. "I feel an aneurysm coming on."

"You and me both, buddy," Bucky mutters behind them sulkily as Steve nods with a rueful grin and Tony leaps up to press a tender, sweet kiss to his mouth that nearly has Steve's knees turning to jelly. It's unfair, really, the effect Tony has on him. 

"Holy crap," Tony breathes, running his fingers through Steve's hair with a reverent quality in his large brown eyes. "I really, really, like that _this _is a thing now. I'm the luckiest bastard alive," and he flops back down on the couch with a dopey grin on his face. "Take that, Erica Wedelfuck in high school who said I couldn't get a crow to kiss me even if I held a piece of rotting meat between my teeth."

Trust Tony to ruin a moment with his boundless grace, Steve thinks, rolling his eyes as he pulls on the new grey shirt and changes into his running shorts, not missing the way Tony's eyes linger on his waist and then slides downwards. "Erica Wedelfuck?" He opts for instead, raising an eyebrow at Tony, who scrunches his face up like mentioning her name is a blatant insult.

"She was Norwegian or something." Like that explains it. 

And then Bucky does the same thing with his shirt and shorts and effectively shuts Tony up. Steve watches with a smile as Tony's eyes go full blown with amazement and arousal again, eyes raking over the sculpted washboard of abs that belongs to Bucky Barnes. Tony shoots Steve a deranged sort of look, screaming _are you seeing this? _and Steve just laughs because _yes, I see it every night. _

"Get your ass over here, murder muffin." Is all Tony says before Bucky saunters over and has a Tony-shaped koala like form clinging to his chest and eating face. Not literally. Koalas only eat eucalyptus. 

"Does this mean you're going to come running with us?" Bucky says breathlessly as he pulls away from Tony, lips flush and red. Steve is already at the elevator again, waiting patiently with a pleasant smile. His face is beginning to ache from all the smiling. It's a strange feeling, but he likes it. 

"Yeah, yeah, I know when the battle is lost." Tony mumbles against Bucky's neck as Bucky strides into the elevator, deposits Tony on the floor like precious cargo and then the elevator doors lurch shut. "You two are properly lethal. Run past some old ladies like that, you'll give them a real heart attack."

"That's right," Steve says. "We have no real need for guns."

"And just like that you've destroyed the guns business," Tony adds from his place behind them. "Properly lethal, I tell you. Remind me to get a Danger! red sticker for the two of you. I bet you know exactly what you do to poor women who have the misfortune of seeing you two run past."

Bucky rolls his eyes, but the faint blush in his cheeks betray that he too, is so far gone on Tony. "Stop trying to butter us up, doll. With you there, those poor ladies will be thrice as envious."

Tony laughs like he thinks Bucky's making a joke. 

Steve wishes Tony knew exactly how alluring he is. It'd give him some peace of mind, really, that if Tony gets lost somewhere outside he can handle himself well enough for a few hours that Steve and Bucky can find him, because there are some sick people out there. 

The process of getting Tony out the door of the compound, is harder than it looks. Tony talks their ears off, hell, even passing officers of the building are staring at the three of them like some kind of supernatural occurrence. Steve and Bucky going out for a run is normal. Is expected. But when you add a short, lanky brunet with big brown eyes and an even bigger mouth into the mix, it's not so common. Steve crowds in behind Tony, with Bucky in front, and tries to shield the unsuspecting brunet from the curious stares and then soon they're out the door and tumbling onto the busy streets of New York and Tony is _still _talking about lactic acid and how it burns muscles. Or not. Steve really doesn't know. 

"Less talking, more running!" Bucky says cheerfully, doing a round of warm up stretches the same time as Steve. Tony looks at Bucky, then at Steve, and then sighs heavily and starts stretching ever so painfully slow. 

"We'll slow down for you," Steve promises, pressing a quick kiss to Tony's forehead. "Stay with us at all times, okay? Run with me, or with Bucky, or inbetween us—"

Tony blinks innocently at him, then starts running in the other direction. 

Steve pauses, mouth open, and Bucky doubles over in cackles that suggest he's enjoying this far too much. Then the two of them take off, jogging after Tony and within seconds they're sandwiching the younger brunet inbetween them protectively. Tony says something garbled and out of breath, probably some sign of protest, but is ignored by both Bucky and Steve as they turn a corner towards a familiar park. 

Steve turns back to the street before them, surprisingly sparse of people, and relishes the crisp air raking through his hair and the blood flowing in his veins. God, he really loves running. 

They enter the park, and because it's a Thursday evening, only fellow joggers, and a few variety of people are milling around. Steve takes the lead, Bucky falling behind Tony, and the three of them run laps around the winding pathways of the respectively large park. It's Bucky and Steve's favorite park. 

It's almost forty minutes before Tony all but collapses in the middle of the path, and leaves Steve and Bucky standing over him in mild concern. 

"This is what death feels like," Tony wheezes from his spot on the concrete, face turned towards the admittedly nice view of the small lake framed by flowing willow trees. "At least there's a nice view."

"Don't be dramatic," Bucky teases, crouching and helping the younger brunet to his feet (or knees). "You did well, for your alleged first run."

"Just let me die here," Tony moans into the concrete, ignoring Bucky. "I've lived a full life."

Bucky snickers, delighted in Tony's theatrics. "Before we left I ordered someone to brew a fresh pot of black coffee for us."

Tony cracks open an incredulous eye, and heaves himself to his knees painstakingly like it's the hardest thing he's ever done, and Steve _knows _for a fact the man's built some complicated stuff in the labs with the ease of a professional.

Steve, who had spent the past minute surveying their surroundings for anything suspicious relaxes a little and motions to the bench behind them. Tony shakes his head, tipping his chin back and staring glaze-eyed at the sky. "Does he have brain damage or something?" Steve asks, mouth pulled in a fond smile. 

Tony glares at him half-heartedly. "I feel like half my lung committed suicide. And _I'm_ starting to consider it as an option." 

Then an older woman hobbles by, stares at Tony's prone form on the floor with a shocked expression, and then accusingly at Steve and Bucky. "Is the young man okay?" 

And because Steve and Bucky are suckers for old women and Tony is evil, Tony secretly throws them a smug smirk as he turns and shakes his head dolefully at the old woman adopting a sorrowful expression. "No, ma'am. I'm just really exhausted. They forced me to go running. I resisted. I failed." And then Tony, the sneaky shit (excuse his language, please) points at Steve and Bucky. 

The old woman shakes her head, frowning. Steve lowers his head in shameful acceptance as she lectures Steve and Bucky on the importance of cultivating strong, nurturing relationships and then with a pat on Tony's head and a _tsk_ for Steve and Bucky, hobbles her way out of their sight. 

"You're the dangerous one," Steve tells Tony, who has a triumphant grin on his face.

"I don't know what you're talking about." 

Then Bucky's suddenly gone, and Steve is turning around looking for his boyfriend when Bucky comes running back just as quickly, pulling a strange girl with him. His boyfriend comes to a stop, grinning childishly and motions to the girl with a flurry of gestures that both spikes up his anxiety and his curiosity. Steve looks at them, surprised, doesn't know if he should ask her for her name or demand Bucky's explanation. 

"She has a Polaroid," Bucky explains, excited and loose and _happy. _Tony's eyes go big again, and he starts nodding like he knows what Bucky wants and agrees with it.

Steve has never felt more relaxed, more happy than he is when he is with them. Even though he doesn't understand half the things that happens sometimes. "What?"

"He asked me to take your picture," the young girl says, holding up a Polaroid camera with a shy smile. "Is that alright?" Behind her, two other girls are clutching each other in barely contained excitement, and whispering loudly with beams on their faces. Tony takes one look at them and adopts a self-satisfied, identical grin on his face. Steve will never get tired of seeing him smile like that. 

"Hell yeah it's alright," Tony suddenly blurts, jumping to his feet and herding Steve and Bucky to the other side of the path that has the lake and the willow trees behind them. It's a scenic picture, beautiful and calm, the breeze leafing through their hair and their skin. 

Bucky whoops loudly, pale blue eyes shining in the half light, nudges Tony until he's in the middle. Then Steve can't help but laugh and curl his arm around Tony and reaching Bucky's shoulder, holding him tightly, and Bucky turns to him with the softest smile on his face like _Steve, look at us_, and then Bucky is touching him and Tony is pressed inbetween them with a giant smile on his face. Steve tries not to squint against the sunlight, raising his chin to look at the camera. They're all sweaty, dripping with perspiration and their shirts are sticking to their chests and Tony is smeared with grime and dirt, ever like the engineer, but he's laughing as Bucky says something about how if Steve lifts his shirt to distract the girls, he could snatch the Polaroid and start running while Tony tackles any stragglers and then they wouldn't have to approach strangers for the photos. 

But it's perfect, natural and just how it should be. 

The girl raises the Polaroid, aims, and then a bright flash. 


	18. Chapter 18

"See the look on those girls' faces," Tony crows delightedly, practically bouncing on the way back to the compound. He turns back to face them, grin never leaving his face, hair falling across his forehead dripping with sweat as he waves the Polaroid snapshot of them in the air like a contestant winning a prize. "They were so _ jealous _of me. I'm telling you! Luckiest. Bastard. Alive."

Bucky can't help but smile, too. The evening's turned out to be something special, just the three of them, running through the city and into the his and Steve's favorite park. It had been perfect, fun and light and _ happy. _Tony makes them happy. The Polaroid of them, is perfect. It rests in his pocket, and occasionally Bucky palms his fingers over the fabric, as if reassuring himself it's still there. 

"I thought you said you were too tired to walk back, and one of us would have to carry you home," Steve reminds Tony with a knowing look. 

"Yeah," Tony says, mouth opening in an 'o' of realization. Then his eyes brighten and he pretends to fall to his knees, only to have Bucky swoop into the rescue and haul him back up, rolling his eyes. "My knight in shining armor," Tony announces, giving him a quick kiss that absolutely does _ not _have his stomach churning.

"Well," he drawls, swats Tony lightly on the head, ignoring the brunet's indignant squawk. "If you're this weak on your feet, I guess the coffee will have to go to someone else. Someone like Nat or Clint, maybe? Because I read a study that said coffee isn't beneficial for exhausted young liars with their _ pants on fire—" _

Tony's head pops up with wide, accusing eyes. "Hey now! Let's not be so hasty. I, uh, I'm fine," he says quickly, shaking Bucky's hands off just as Steve chuckles. "You wouldn't be so evil as to leave my coffee child to the wolves, Buck."

"No, he'd probably leave you in Nat's hands for one of her _ wonderful _make up sessions," Steve points out helpfully. 

"Did you mother feed you curdled milk as a baby?" Tony turns to ask him in a horrified voice.

"No," Bucky says, keeping his eyes straight ahead. "She bathed me in bleach."

"Explains a lot." Tony cackles, and promptly puts a burst of speed between himself and Bucky to escape Bucky's vengeful flurry of hands. 

Since they're already at the compound, which to a normal passerby looks just like an expensive office building, Bucky lets him go, but keeps an eye on Tony's form bounding up the marble steps to the entrance. Steve falls into step beside him, gait easy and relaxed. He glances at the blond, knocking their shoulders together affectionately. 

"You good?" Bucky murmurs, slowing his steps down at the stairs. 

Steve looks at him, eyes impossibly blue, and smiles. "I'm perfect."

"Wow," Bucky scoffs, smirking back at Steve as he chases after Tony. "Someone's feeling egotistical today." It gives him great pleasure when the blond widens his eyes in mock distress, mouth opening like he wants to argue his case of _ I didn't mean it that way, Buck, for God's sake. _

The two guards standing vigilantly inside the complex immediately snap to attention upon seeing the trio, and Bucky's eye catches one of the soldier's fingers curling over the trigger when he sees Tony leap into sight, babbling excitedly about the glass the doors and the massive window panes outside are made of. Bucky narrows his eyes, and the soldier visibly gulps, snapping his gaze indifferently forward as Bucky curls a protective arm behind Tony's back, the younger brunet still painfully oblivious. 

Bucky tries not to think that it would be so, _so _easy to hurt Tony, if someone really wanted to.

To stalk up behind the curly-haired brunet, slip an arm underneath his throat and _squeeze._

The Winter Soldier stirs, sinks claws deeper in his brain._ They'll do more than squeeze. They'll do much worse. They probably will, if they ever find out how important Tony is to you and Steve. _

Bucky keeps moving, knows it's useless to ignore the Soldier. _I wouldn't let them. Tony, he's not helpless, he can take care of himself. He's smart. _

Steve and Tony walk into the elevator. The feeling in his legs go slow, sluggish and lethargic, and Bucky stops in his track, as the Soldier peels away from him, leaving his body cold and frozen, goosebumps trailing his skin. Bucky watches as the Soldier hovers in the elevator doorway, inches away from Tony as the brunet holds the doors open for him. The Soldier crosses his arms over his chest and looks Tony up and down thoughtfully. Bucky lets out a breath, pushing down the surge of anger. 

_He has pretty, long fingers, _the Soldier murmurs, lifting his head to gaze at him. _They'll enjoy breaking each and every one of them. _

Bucky shudders, doesn't want to shout but it still feels like his throat is tightening, and he blinks furiously, wants to make the Soldier leave. The Soldier doesn't. Stares at him, still close to Tony, mouth upturned in a smirk like he knows exactly what he's thinking, knows Bucky can't make him go. 

"Bucky?" Tony asks, frowning anxiously. "What's wrong?"

Steve, already inside the elevator, squints and looks like he's going to come right up to him. Bucky shakes his head, trying to smile, and steps into the elevator, heart beating slightly faster as the two men stare at him, waiting for a response. 

"Just thinking," is all he tells them, apologetic, and then sags back against the elevator door.

Steve doesn't look like he believes him, but lets it go for now. The blond nods, gently touches Bucky's shoulder with his hand then turns to Tony, speaking quietly in a lower tone. A sense of relief washes over him and Bucky closes his eyes briefly, half-listening to Steve telling Tony sometimes he gets in his own head, because Steve has known him long enough to know how to act when Bucky's 'thinking'. 

The Soldier's calm, measured breaths, rises and falls behind him. _I wonder what he'll do when he finds out about me. _

Bucky doesn't look around. _He's not going to. _

The Soldier shrugs his shoulder in a laugh. _Oh, really. Are you absolutely sure about that? You going to keep me your dirty little secret? We're like the villain in every movie, the crazy assassin with the voice living in his head, telling him what to do. Sounds like a fucking cliche of a horror movie. _

_You're more talkative than usual, _Bucky retorts, angry at the suggestion and only partly because it might be true, and is even angrier at himself for rising to the goad, the one reflection of a million times. 

The rest of the elevator ride Bucky remains silent. The Soldier seems peeved, but Bucky's determined to last the whole time without acknowledging him once. 

He catches Tony's inquisitive gaze resting on him for a split second, before the younger brunet looks away guiltily, just as the elevator doors smoothly open and Bucky's heart drops a little further down his chest.

He doesn't want Tony to look at him like some kind of freak, thinks it just might kill him if he looks Tony in the eyes and sees rejection there, or even worse, _fear. _

They get off the elevator, and onto the ground floor. 

The place is well lit, except for long dim hallways and oval briefing rooms, the glow of tech screens in every corner. Several rooms lap from corridor to corridor, doors filtered and gray to protect the contents from peeking eyes. Steve touches Tony on the back and steers him to the side, signals Bucky to stay, before briskly taking off in the opposite direction. Bucky's okay, doesn't say much, gives Tony a crooked smile that seems a little too empty and the cautious smile he gets in return makes him feel even worse about the whole thing, because Tony just leans back against the wall, the same small, worried smile painted on his face. 

Bucky's been on the ground floor a hundred times, has _worked _here as a tactical force agent. Or a hitman, in layman's terms. Was scouted by Steve himself, when the blond busted Bucky on his first real Op outside in the real world, and Bucky got himself tripped up in a thick net of trouble and Steve had been too soft, too kind for his own good and brought him right back. 

He still remembers it, the young, desperate, _foolish _kid he'd been, taking reckless shots that could have gotten him killed a hundred times over. Bucky's first encounter with Steve wasn't some head-over-heels, romantic love-on-sight kind of deal, no. It was a raining day, blankets of grey on anything in sight. The boots on his feet had been wretched, dirty and his shirt smeared with grime. His hair tangled, long and wild. A night driven by carnal hunger, an ache in his bones, he'd spotted a deal trade-off in a sketchy bar downtown, only frequented by alcoholics and crawlers who lived for when the sun went down, and drowned his sorrows in at least half a bottle of whisky. Steve had come in, through the door, blond hair plastered to his face, two men coming in behind him, looking like he had a halo of gold ringed around his head, and Bucky hadn't been able to look away. And when the bullets starting going off, Bucky hadn't run out the door like everyone else. He'd taken one look at the blond beauty, decided he liked what he'd seen. 

The two of them had ended up staring across at each other, breathing hard, and Bucky hadn't been able to tear his eyes away from the sculptures of Steve's face in the low light, his skin bathed in a light sheen of sweat and blood, the wet blond hair, the way his t-shirt had stuck to his shoulders still coiled with restrained power. Bucky had let his fists go, winced at his bloody knuckles, and the two of them didn't talk, didn't say a word to each other as Steve got a couple ice cubs at the back of the bar and gently scraped the skin off his knuckles and pressed ice into his torn skin. 

Steve had taken him back home, blue eyes soft and told him he was safe, the both of them barely shy of nineteen. Steve didn't let Peggy do anything but give him a pair of warm clothes and a warm bed to sleep in that night. One night had turned into three. Three had turned into a week, a month, and eventually, a year. 

His cheeks suddenly feel warm, blood rushing to his face and Bucky blinks, and Tony's hands are cupping his face, fingers bracing his cheeks and curling around his jaw. Tony is staring at him, brown eyes scrutinizing, anxious, and the way his thumb traces the scar on the bridge of Bucky's nose has his chest trembling. 

"Wh-hat," Bucky rasps, gently bringing down Tony's hands with his own and sucking in a deep breath. He's doing this too much, losing time, losing his train of thought, it's been happening too often. 

"You looked like you were in too deep," Tony says softly, doesn't let go of his hands.

Bucky doesn't know quite what to say to that. No one's ever really been with him, except for Steve, when he fades away into his own head. Natasha, maybe. But no one else. But Tony isn't looking at him like he needs or expects an answer, just wants Bucky to be safe, and _dammit, _Bucky wants to tell Tony he loves him. "Thank you," is all he can choke out, throat closing, "for bringing me out," and curls a hand around Tony's neck, pulls him in so their foreheads are touching. "But you gotta be careful, doll. You can't always get my attention like that. It might not be safe, I could...I could hurt you," and he can't stop his voice from breaking. 

Tony blinks slow, like he's mulling it over, and Bucky tries to look elsewhere. Tony doesn't let him, draws him back. "I know. You're dangerous, Steve's dangerous, you all tell me how dangerous you are," and Tony's smiling, the strange boy, a beautiful light entering his irises. "But you're only dangerous in the right places."

"Tony," Bucky stresses, sighs. "I might hurt you _unintentionally, _and it would just." Breathes out. "Just kill me. I couldn't ever hurt you."

"I trust you with my life," Tony tells him, clear and decisive like he says that kind of thing to wounded, traumatized assassins everywhere, casual as anything, without batting an eye. "It's a thing I'm doing. Meet complete strangers, get mixed up in their lives, and tell them I trust them _not _to stab me with a sharp metal thingy while I'm sleeping with my mouth open." 

"Aw, doll," Bucky says, makes a kissy face at him. "Bold of you to assume we'd be sleeping in the first place."

"Wow," Tony says, dramatically. "Here I thought you'd let your alter ego traumatized-sweet-egg-roll Barnes take over. I have to say, Bold and Horny Barnes is a definite downgrade."

"Bold and Horny Barnes. We're putting that as a sign around my neck."

"Fuck off, Barnes," Tony mouths back, but the overwhelming happiness shows in his sparkling eyes and the ease of his smile. "Just let me have my moment."

"I will not," Bucky says, taking ahold of the brunet's sleeve and pulling. "It's against my nature to let you have any kind of joy. I'm going to find Steve, tell him we're hanging a big cardboard sign around my neck and then we're going to go eat some food. I'll order in. We'll invite everyone else."

"Shwarma? There has to be shwarma," Tony says loudly, allowing himself to be pulled. "If there's no shwarma I'm going to resign."

Bucky rolls his eyes, giving him a brief, pitying look that has Tony squinting back defensively. He really, really, wants to kiss Tony, sweep him off his feet and get that dazed, blissed out expression Bucky _loves _seeing on Tony's face. But first, they have to find Steve, who's actually just disappeared. Bucky stops, glancing around the room. 

"Did you see where he went?" Bucky asks, starting to realize that he doesn't even know what they're doing here. 

Steve might have mentioned something about stopping at the ground floor, but if Bucky didn't listen because he was too busy sucking in coffee and a cinnamon roll, can he really be blamed? Tony starts babbling to him, a complex reply that really just boils down to a simple 'no', because he's always a little manic but not quite as strung as this and Bucky thinks it might be because Tony's just mentioned shwarma and is getting hungry. Bucky's grateful that at least Tony has no idea where Steve is either, because it seems like he spends half his life looking around in places for Steve, and now it's something Tony and he can do together. 

"I think that's him," Tony says, points in the general vicinity of a plant and a buffed Cuban guy who looks dangerously grumpy. 

Bucky follows the direction Tony's finger is pointing, and laughs. "That's a plant, and the guy sitting next to it is Adam and he's in charge of logistics."

Tony sighs theatrically, points again, this time aggressively. "_Past _the plant and the Logistical Cuban Dorito man."

Adam looks to Bucky, and the look on his face translates to, _who the hell's this shrimp?_

Bucky shrugs and gives him a crooked grin. "Adam, meet Tony. He's a homeless man we saved a few weeks ago."

Tony's jaw drops. "He's lying." and he shoves Bucky's shoulder good-naturedly. "I'm just Tony. Resident Shwarma lover."

Adam furrows his brows like he's not sure what any of this has to do with him. 

Bucky waves cheerfully, then pulls Tony with him past the plant, and they come to a stop a few meters away from an open conference room.

The door is ajar, revealing Steve's tall stature. And _Peggy's. _The two of them are facing off against each other, and Bucky only has to take one look to know it's not going to be a pleasant conversation. Steve's shoulders are tight, his jaw clenched, and Peggy doesn't even need to do any more than stare him down with her steely brown eyes to tell everyone in a five meter radius she means business. Which is why her two loyal bodyguards are hanging back a little farther than usual.

Bucky frowns, worry pooling in his gut. He turns back to Tony, grabs him gently. 

"Stay here," he says, motioning to the room, "I'm going to check on Steve."

Then without waiting for an answer, Bucky takes off, skirting carefully the huge potted plant, and comes to a stop in front of the opened door. Both Steve and Peggy are too immersed in what seems to be an argument, to acknowledge him. 

"—you _know _it's more than that," Steve hisses, sounding angry and hurt at the same time. "Aunt Peggy, you don't understand. We can't make them leave now, they're, well, they're part of the team. McCullough has his men surveilling both Tony and Clint's apartments. It's _not safe _for them go back."

Bucky winces, because _oh, _it's about Tony and Clint. One quick look behind assures him Tony is still exactly where Bucky left him, except the brunet has now sidled up to Adam and is beginning to make conversation. Bucky tries not to laugh when he notices the indifferent, yet faintly interested expression on Adam's face as Tony leans over, hands gesturing something animated. Poor Adam, he'll never recover.

Steve's voice raises. "Niki Rosten could be an ally. Aunt Peggy, trust me. She's got what we need, the connection to McCullough, and she's willing to be bait."

Bucky leans against the open doorway, quietly listening. 

Peggy flicks a lint off her shoulder so menacingly, Bucky almost feels bad for the lint. 

"How do we know she doesn't have her own agenda?" Peggy says. "The girl is a mercenary, for God's sake, Steve. I taught you better than this. You don't trust someone who's been on the other side."

"She wants to kill McCullough," Steve says, lowering his voice. "He killed her mother."

"Why is she going for it now?" Peggy asks coolly. "From what I know, McCullough's wife perished in a burning building more than ten years ago. Rosten could have gone after McCullough any time before then and now. So Steve," and she moves up, nose to nose with the blond. "Why now?"

"She's been preoccupied," Steve answers hesitantly. Bucky closes his eyes. Peggy will pick up the hesitation like a bloodhound. "She was the leader of the Rogues, after they left Carlston. When Bucky found her, three men were in her apartment. Without Bucky she'd be dead. Those men were Zola's, and since Zola's working with McCullough, safe to assume he was in it too."

Peggy narrows her eyes. "You're telling me that Zola and her own father put a hit out on her?"

"Maybe she didn't go after McCullough before because it was some kind of mutual agreement of neutrality," Steve murmurs. "But that's not how it is now."

"You're sure she'll give us McCullough."

Steve breathes out. "You heard the plan. She's going to be the bait."

"A gang war isn't what we need right now," Peggy tells him, and she sounds tense. That's never a good sign, Bucky thinks. "If McCullough's out of the picture, Zola will be gunning for us next."

"They're working together," Steve responds evenly. "Our odds aren't good if we face them together. We fare better when McCullough's out, and we have the _chance _to have that done, for the first time in years. Rosten says she'll take the blame. We only have to intercept him, and then she'll end it."

"She'll execute him?" Peggy says. "If you're going to go through with this, Steve, it's your plan. Your responsibility. I won't say I think it's the best idea you've had."

Steve tips his head, smiling crookedly. "It doesn't need to be the best plan, but it's the only one we've got right now."

"The devil you know," Peggy says grimly. She straightens, patting down her pantsuit. 

"And about the civilians?" Steve ventures, and Bucky hisses nervously through his teeth. 

Peggy stills. Her eyes soften. "You know they're not our responsibility."

Bucky's heart drops. 

"They're important to the team," Steve says, strongly. "They've gotten attached."

"You mean _you've _gotten attached," Peggy parries back calmly, and Bucky sees Steve almost flinch. "You and your second-in-command, Bucky Barnes. They're civilians, above all else. They have lives outside this. They're not _family, _Steve."

"They could be," Steve argues, but it falls flat. 

Bucky bites the inside of his mouth, considering barreling inside and resting their case. 

"I'm not making them leave," Steve says, again, and there's an undercurrent of fragility in his tone. "Unless they want to. Look, Clint's amazing at archery, and is a wizard at communications. That's a valuable skill. Tony's a wicked genius, an engineer, just ask Happy. They'd fit in here, Aunt Peggy!"

"Have you even told those two civilians what's really going on? Because if they get caught in the crosshairs of a situation that doesn't even _matter _to them, doesn't concern them, then it'll be our responsibility," and Peggy's brown eyes flash hotly. "Don't you understand? They're not like us!"

"They might not be like us, but they're part of my team now," Steve replies, steel in his voice. 

"They're not part of anything," Peggy shoots back, and the air is taut with hostility. Bucky swallows. "No. I've had enough of this nonsense. I will not have the death of yet _another _civilian, no less another _Stark, _on my hands!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

_Tony._

Bucky whips around, heart beating fast. Tony stands in front of them, face pale, looking from Bucky, to Steve, to Peggy. The silence is deafening. 

Steve glares at Peggy. "What _does _that mean?"

"Another civilian? Another Stark?" Tony says, pitching forward unsteadily like he's planning to rush into the room. Bucky peels off from the wall, ignoring Peggy's dark look, and catches the brunet around the waist, gently pressing Tony into his chest. He can feel the brunet trembling. "What's that mean? _Steve!"_

Peggy lets out a long breath, lips thin. "It doesn't mean anything. Dismissed."

"No, no," Tony says, trying to shoulder out of Bucky's grip. "_No, _it means something. What did you mean when you said _another Stark?"_

Steve frowns, glancing at his Aunt, whose eyes tighten. "Aunt Peggy..."

"You mean my parents, right?" Tony says loudly, voice shaking slightly. Bucky tightens his grip around his waist, tries to pull them back, but Tony's ignoring him. Tony's eyes flash whites at the edges, and Bucky hums low under his breath, trying to soothe. "You mean my parents. My dad, Howard Stark, you _meant my dad."_

Peggy waves her hand. "Barnes, please get that civilian out of my sight," and her voice is piercing, loaded with ammunition. Bucky exchanges a pleading glance with Steve. 

"Hey, look at me!" and Tony's shouting now. The agents in the office start turning around to look. Tony's elbow nearly knocks him in the face. "You knew my parents, right? You knew my dad, my dad, his name was Howard Stark, and my mom's name was Maria, and they died in a fucking car crash, and you know something about that, don't you?"

Peggy marches forward, hand settling on the door knob. "Steve, Bucky. _Now."_

Tony's wriggling harder. "You knew them! You were there!" and his voice breaks, something weak and frightened, and all Bucky can think of is how much Tony looks like a child, a child who's just found out his parents are dead. Tony's hands grip in his hair, staring straight at Peggy, unblinking. "You were there," and his voice drops to an empty whisper. "It was you. On the mantel. In the picture."

The bodyguards are advancing now, but Steve slides out in front of them, blocking the way steadfastly. 

Peggy's hand drops from the door knob, and her face is screwed so tight, Bucky's never seen it like that before. There's a glimmer of something tormented in her gaze, and she grits out, "What mantel?"

Bucky lets go of Tony, throat constricting. He thinks he's never seen so much hurt on anyone's face, the way he's seeing it on Tony. Tony wobbles on his feet for a second, and Bucky's already stepping forward to catch him, but then Tony's spine goes ramrod straight and he steps up to Peggy Carter, brown hair mussed, eyes glassy but as solid as he's ever been.

"The mantel on the fireplace," Tony breathes, sounding distant and lost. "It was you. You were between my mom and my dad, but it was you, _you were there."_

Peggy's eyes go cloudy like she's frozen in time. 

Tony squeezes his eyes shut, like he's trying to dig some buried memory out from the depths of his brain. "It was you," he repeats, and Bucky wants to envelope him into a hug, cradle his trembling body to his chest. "My mom had her arm around you. My dad was smiling. _Another Stark."_

"Ms. Carter," one of the bodyguards, Jamie, presses up. Steve stares him down.

There's a moment of taut silence, before Peggy seems to deflate. "Come inside."

Tony stumbles into the room, and Bucky's right behind him, and God, he wants to help but he doesn't know how. Tony's shaking ever so slightly like he just might fold like a pack of cards, but it's something in the past, _his _past, and Bucky doesn't know how to help. So he just moves in behind Tony, trying to offer as much comfort as his presence can, but the only person Tony's looking at and paying attention to is Peggy Carter. 

Steve catches him on the arm. His blue eyes are wide, earnest, asking.

Bucky shakes his head. _No, I don't know anything. _

Peggy clicks the door shut. She takes a visibly deep breath, composing herself, then turns around to face Tony. Like him, she's absolutely centered on one person in the entire room. 

"Tony," she begins, and there's aching hurt dripping from her voice. "I'm sorry."

Tony's eyes snap to her, fiery, so different from the misery Bucky saw not five minutes ago. "Did you kill them? I always knew the car crash wasn't an accident."

Steve stiffens. Peggy glances at him for a brief second, then back to Tony and she shakes her head vehemently. "No, no, of course not," and she's running her hands through her dark hair. "Howard and Maria Stark," and Peggy falters. "They were my friends. We were very close."

Tony's face falls flat, like all the emotions have been ripped out. 

It's something Bucky never wants to see ever again on his face. 

"Tell me everything." Tony says, through his teeth. 

Peggy nods. "Okay. I knew them from college. They, they always knew who I was, knew who my family was, but they never judged. They stayed out of it. We kept in contact with each other all throughout life, through business deals, through friendly meetups and gatherings. I'd even been to your home," she says, and lets out a soft chuckle. "I held you. As a baby."

Tony looks to the ground. "I don't remember."

"You wouldn't. You were too young. Anyways," Peggy continues, drawing herself up like she needs to in order to breathe. "I began advancing in my family, if you will. Taking on more responsibility. Soon, I was in charge of most dealings and logistics. Meanwhile, your father had begun weapons technology development, in green energy." She looks at Tony, like she needs him to understand. "Howard said he'd change the world, protect lives, help the Army. He was on the route to become the best weapons technology developer there was. And he wanted us to be partners, because the Carters were working with some Army contractors at the time."

"My dad," Tony says. "My dad, he never told me he sold weapons. All he'd ever tell me, was that he was onto something. He was going to help people, help our country."

"Howard wanted to protect you," Peggy tells him gently. "The weapons industry is nothing to joke about. Howard knew it was cutthroat. Especially with the profit he'd been making, he was gaining a reputation, and with that, came negative attention. Howard started getting offers. From notorious people, with strong links in the black market. Terrorists."

Tony closes his eyes, swallows hard like he can't bear listening. Listening to the story of how his parents died. 

Bucky _aches _for him. 

Peggy's face darkens. "They were relentless. He came to me for help, just after we closed our deal. They wanted your father's energy tech, his developments, his schemes, and they were very clear about how far they would go to get it."

"You keep saying 'they'," Tony says slowly, brown eyes swimming with distress. "Who's 'they'?"

"We still don't know," Peggy answers sadly. "I never found out. Black market headers."

Bucky winces. Black market dealers, especially the ones who call the shots on what gets traded in the system, are ghosts. The most dangerous kinds, because if you can't see them, if you don't know who they are, you can't fight them. 

"Did my dad give it to them?" 

"No," Peggy says, sorrowful, but she gives Tony a small smile. "No, he didn't. He knew they'd hurt people with it. Howard called me, the night before, from his office, told me he was going away. Packing his bags, taking you and Maria with him. He was going straight home, getting you, then out. Maria was with him. I wanted to help, send support, so I told him I'd have a plane at the nearest airfield."

"But they never made it home," and Tony sounds _ruined, _looking like he's just been shot. "They never made it home_._ They never came back for _me._"

Peggy moves, then, reaches out and pulls him into a hug.

Tony shatters in her arms. 

"I'm sorry," Peggy whispers, holding tighter. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Tony clutches at her like she's his lifeline. 

"Your parents," she says, pulling back and grasping Tony's face gently in her hands. "Your parents were wonderful. And they would be _so _proud of you, if they could see you know."

"Did you, did you know? When Steve brought me in?" Tony mumbles into her shoulder, sniffling. 

"Not at first," Peggy says, smiling past her teary eyes. "But then I saw it. You have Maria's eyes, her sweet smile. Howard's nose, his hair, and his genius. You have the best of both of them."

"I grew up alone," Tony chokes out, rubbing at his red eyes. "I only had Jarvis. He died a few years ago."

"I know," Peggy murmurs. "I'm sorry."

Tony snorts tearfully. "I was the one, who the police came to. Jarvis was cooking dinner. They rang the door, I opened it real fast, because mom and dad were late to dinner, and they never were." Bucky looks away, forcing down the lump in his throat when Tony says, "I never knew why they died. They were taken from me, just like that."

"I watched you from afar," Peggy says, drawing her hand down Tony's cheek, thumbing away a stray tear. "You were all that was left of them. The only thing I wanted for you, Tony, was for you to stay _out _of all of this. I stayed out of your life. You weren't going to be involved. A normal life, a successful engineer, I wanted you far away from _this," _and she gestures openly. 

"I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree," Tony says thickly, smiling lopsidedly. "Had to get in on the action, just like my Pops."

"It's not what your parents would've wanted." Peggy says. "It's why I don't want you here," Peggy tells him, calmly. "Why you should run. I will _not _have your death on my hands. Your parents would never forgive me."

Tony stops. His eyes are bright, so ever bright. "My parents are dead. It's _my _life."

"Tony," Bucky starts, speaking for the first time. 

"I don't want to go," Tony suddenly says, looking around till he finds Bucky and Steve. "I want to be here. I want to stay."

Peggy frowns, deeply. "You don't know what you're saying."

"I do," Tony replies, eyes wide like he's coming to a realization. Bucky nods at him supportively, wants him to know no matter what, he'll have Bucky. All the way. Steve just smiles warmly, and it's all Tony needs before he turns back to Peggy. "I really, really do."


	19. Chapter 19

Peggy's staring at him with a look in her eyes like she's just found a stray kitten mewling for its dead mother in the corner of a dumpster. For her, it's like the wound of his parents have been ripped wide open again and the pain is fresh and raw, but Tony's parents have been dead for a decade and he's kind of stopped getting all torn up about it because let's face it, it's counter productive to yearn for people he _knows _are never coming back. It makes Tony a little bit uncomfortable, the pitiful way she's side-eyeing him, so he shifts his weight onto the balls of his feet and starts sucking on the inside of his mouth. Peggy's mouth dips into a frown, low and unhappy, and Tony marvels at how similar it is to his Mom's. 

"So, you're staying." Peggy says, all disapproval and slight discontent in her voice. 

The way she reminds him of his Mom is downright terrifying, from the graceful set of her shoulders, the elegant tilt of her neck, and the way she clasps her hands together. It's distracting, leaves him afloat in a pool of flashes, memories and images of a simpler time and the hardest part is breathing through it all. 

_Stand up straight, sweetheart, or they're going to smell your fear, _Maria used to whisper, hand braced at the back of his head when the Paparazzi swarmed the sidewalks to get to them. 

Maria's soft smile, and the smell of her hair. 

He hasn't thought this much of her since the last time he drank himself into a stupor. 

"I want to," Tony decides to say, her face edged in ways he doesn't entirely appreciate. "I think I've found my place."

_With Steve and Bucky. _

_With Clint. With Natasha, Wanda, Pietro, Bruce._

"I realize I don't have any right to dictate your actions or tell you what you should do," Peggy says slowly, like she's waiting for him to lose his shit and is utterly prepared to deal with the fallout. Wants it, even. "But you're under my responsibility here. Your safety is my utmost concern, and I'm afraid this isn't the safest place for you to be."

"I'm made of stronger stuff than that," Tony tells her, gesturing languidly at the back of his head, a snapshot of his head playing whack-a-mole with the bathroom tile floor. "When I first met Bucky, I got thrown ten feet from an explosion. A bullet nearly hit me. Someone attacked me in the toilet, for God's sake. I can take it."

With every mention of violence against Tony, Peggy's eye starts twitching and it almost makes him laugh, because Maria would have touched his cheek and told him he'd done good. He smiles, lips curved, at Peggy's subtly upset face. 

"You shouldn't have been through all of that," she finally says. "Tony. You were supposed to live a normal life."

"It hasn't been normal since I said an eulogy, laid my flowers on two coffins."

Peggy winces, a small flinch like she's been hurt. Tony hadn't meant to hurt her. 

"What makes you want to stay so much?" and there's curiosity there, that much, he can give her. 

Tony purses his lips, thoughtful. "I can make a real difference here, I can start, I've already got this idea I've been working on for three years about Arc Reactor technology that with the time and the equipment, I could make into a reality," and he sits forward, _needs _her to understand. "I could _help _people. I'd be bringing my Dad's dream to life. For the first time in a very long time, I might even have a family," and he can't hide the small tremor in his voice, the fragile hope that flits under his fingertips. "And that's big. To me."

Peggy closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose in a gesture Tony can't quite deduce is exasperated acceptance, pity, or disappointment. "I can tell you're not going to change your mind." 

"You gonna kick me out?" Tony challenges, taking his black coffee perching on the table and giving it a long, religious sip. 

"Of course not," Peggy replies, fast and concerned. "No. If you were to leave, it'd be your choice."

Not that it matters, all her concern and worry, if she's going to make him leave anyway. Tony needs to convince her to let him stay, with the people he's felt more at home with in a month than anyone who's been in his life for the past five years. He can't afford to leave, to go back to a life where he's being reverted to zero, to scratch, because his disappearance is bound to cause problems and if he hasn't already been declared missing, the wrath Tony would be facing from his MIT professors is properly sobering. The whole issue with Clint, with his barista status most likely long revoked after he stopped coming into work and the rent he's sharing with his roommates... it gives him a headache just thinking about it. 

Peggy's frown gets deeper, and it bothers Tony how much it reminds him of Jarvis. Jarvis frowning when he'd catch Tony sneaking up pies and casseroles late in the night, and then the sweets became alcohol, and Jarvis keeps fading away, even though now Tony would give anything to see that fond, but strict frown one more time. "I know you want to stay, and I can't deny that having you close would help my peace of mind, but Tony, this is dangerous. You, above all, are not trained. You're not a soldier, and you don't hurt people."

"I know what you do," Tony says, and he does, he's not blind or in denial. "You're the Carter crime family. I know a lot of what you do is illegal, is dangerous, and hurts people. But I also know a lot of it isn't. You're in the development of green technology, and alternative sources of fuel and energy. You're investing in funds for AI and smart cell research. You're also in the trade industry, so in that respect, you're kind of like merchants, and you send monthly payments and funds to the local charities and services in the community. I've never seen things as white or black. Shades of grey are way more entertaining."

"Shades of grey," Peggy echoes after a long pause, staring at him with surprise etched on her face.

It's almost an insult to him, that she thinks he'd ever walk in blind and not figure out everything he could possibly know about the people he's with as fast as he could. 

"I'm a conversational wizard," Tony tells her, grinning lopsidedly. "And I listen, contrary to popular belief."

Peggy shakes her head, like she wants to scold him but doesn't know how. "You're every bit as clever as Maria and Howard, just like they always said you would be." And her mouth breaks into a small smile that twinges something ragged in Tony's chest, fills his bones with dotted thorns that twist and curl his heart bloody. She doesn't seem to notice, looks at him with nostalgia in her eyes. "Were you... were you lonely, Tony? Growing up?"

It's a question that throws him off, a little. He loses his footing, sometimes, with older, smarter people who think he has something he needs to learn. But he's been asked about his parents so many times, the answers just come automated. It crosses Tony's mind that he can't do that with her. 

Peggy doesn't deserve it. She _knew _them. 

With others, they didn't know his parents. He'd get away with saying the most mundane things, like 'they were great people and I miss them but I'm okay now'. But to Peggy, they were life, they were people with stars in their touch and lightning in their heads, and to talk about his parents like they were one-dimensional figures who were there one day, then they weren't, is a disservice to their memory. 

"Sometimes," Tony says, lets the cool surface of Maria's pearls flit through his fingers, iridescent and phantom. Lets Howard's favorite tie twine underneath his palm, the silk melting under his skin. "Like, with Mom and Dad. There every day, then just gone forever. And I just thought, does it even work? Is this how it's going to be for the rest of my life? People die, and you just.... keep going?"

It's silent between them, nearly deafening. To see himself, reflected in the rocky brownness of Peggy's gaze, spurs him on. 

"I moved on," and his voice sounds rough, even to his own ears. "I missed them. Everyday. Thought about them all the time, in every piano I would see, in every antique clock I'd pass, in every fucking _whisky _served in a twister glass." Tony breathes out, long and shaky. "But eventually it just... numbed out. The world keeps moving, keeps going on, and I used to get angry at that, you know?" He shakes his head a little, laughs, laughs light and airy like he used to and it seems to pierce the air between them like tiny needles. "Like, there was a huge hole in me. In my life. And everyone was just walking around, like it didn't _fucking matter._ I wouldn't be able to sleep, I couldn't look into a crowd without fucking seeing one of them, but it only hurt _me._" He inhales, then, so high strung he notices the trembling breath Peggy takes, and continues. "Because I figured it out, you know. Death only stops the one it happens to."

Things like that shouldn't happen to a child. 

Peggy reaches forward, and Tony lets her take one of his hands and cradle it in a soft, parental way that _hurts, _that digs the thorns even deeper into his skin because his Mom used to hold his hands like that. 

"You know," she starts, sounding teary, but when he looks at Peggy her face is kind and open, steady and gentle and it helps Tony, throws him a lifejacket on a sinking raft. He pulls himself up. Straight. "You were a handful as a baby. You haven't changed much."

Tony laughs and it comes out a little high and a little chipped, but it's still a laugh. "Mom told you, huh."

"More like complained," Peggy says, leaning back on her chair. "You broke the electrical boards to get a panel you needed to build a robot. You used the underwires of your Mom's very expensive bras to get an electrical system of yours working, and she even told me about the time one of your test robots walked right off the balcony and electrocuted the whole swimming pool."

Tony groans, rubbing a hand on his forehead like it'll help in erasing the embarrassing memory of him stealing his Mom's brandname bras and then ripping the fabric to get to the wire, and then his Mom's horrified gasp when she found the bra massacre. "I kind of miss when there was no one alive to remember and talk about the stupid things I did when I was a kid and could never expose me," he says mournfully. 

Peggy chuckles, eyes crinkling. "Sorry to burst your bubble, Tony."

The blush spreading on his cheeks is undignified, undercuts the daunting look he tries his best to level Peggy's way. "I'll have you know, that robot was a professional malfunction and one of my first prototypes. My robot after that could make me a cup of coffee. Can't say the same for any of your robots."

Peggy raises an amused, but indulgent eyebrow. "Then you obviously haven't familiarised yourself with our startup company in robotics."

"You see?" Tony throws up his hands, desperate to make her _see. _"I could help you. You know I could, I could build the things you need with better quality and efficiency and speed than anyone you could hire. Hell, you don't even need to pay me. Consider it a Friends and Family discount. And they're good things, they're things that could change the world and could _help _people, and I wouldn't be hurting anyone. You _know _that. Happy knows that, you can ask him."

He's kind of out of breath, doesn't want to be too straight with her, because rejection is the fastest and easiest way to break him apart and Tony wishes he was lying when he says really intuitive people figure that out about him within 24 hours. 

"I've already asked Happy," Peggy says, her small smile resembling a smirk at the expression of surprise that crosses Tony's face. "And he agrees. Your skill as an inventor, as a manufacturer, it's unparalleled. He says you have an understanding with the science he's never seen before."

"Not that I don't love any mentions of my brilliant aptitude, because I do, does that mean...." and Tony trails off, tries to keep his tone steady and unemotional, but the prospect of being able to _stay _is exhilarating, rushes through his body like a thrill he can't shake. His skin is humming with a feeling of anticipation he hasn't felt in a very long time. 

Peggy purses her lips, almost rolls her eyes fondly. "There _is_ a possibility. A good possibility. I can't deny you would fit in well, given time. But we would need to work very closely together, make sure you're not being put in harm's way."

From her, that's as good as a yes. 

Tony grins, wolfish and sharp. "You're not going to regret this."

"Don't do anything Howard wouldn't do," Peggy tells him, a knowing glint in her eye. 

And it's a hell of a comment, because she's just given him permission to pull the most _outlandish _things he can cook up in his brain, and if there was any doubt in his mind that Peggy knew his parents it would be _this _moment that washed it away. Because Peggy knew Howard, knew his drive, his ferocity, his pure, unfiltered genius that manifested in his son and fuck that if Tony's going to let the last legacy his Dad left him go to waste. 

Now if anyone asked him a month ago what the best thing in the world was, Tony would unashamedly announce, _shawarma, robots, science, and coffee. _Screw the people who would say 'I said only name _one _thing'. 

But now, Tony might actually have to rethink some things because with the way Bucky's curled from behind with his cool metal arm pressing into the small of his back, his breath hitting the back of Tony's neck, and Steve circling him in the front with their legs tangled and hands touching in a display of such intimacy it sends a panging_ ache _through Tony's heart.... _this _might be the best thing in the world. 

"I'm fine," Tony says, seriously. He's said it about three times now. "Guys, look at me. I'm okay. The talk with Peggy went fine, she's a lovely woman and I didn't even need to use the escape methods Bucky told me to memorize before I went in."

Bucky blows out a warm breath. "We don't want you freaking out on us."

Steve nods, shooting a wary look past him to Bucky. "You just found out my aunt knew your parents, and that they were _friends. _It's okay if you need some time to process that."

"Wow," Tony says, twisting around to glare half-heartedly at them. "It's like you're suggesting my parents were friendless. Yes, they had friends, _yes, _one of those friends is your aunt, and _yes, _our lives have been intertwined from the very start. It's all very shocking, and I think I'm going to have to go to therapy to come to terms with this."

"I think you'd greatly benefit from some therapy, Tones," Steve says, dropping the sketchpad a couple inches to stare into Tony's eyes. It would work, that beseeching puppy look, if he wasn't immune to it already. Okay, not quite immune.

Bucky snorts ungracefully. "I think we all would, given our line of work."

_Fine_, it works. 

"That's terribly self-aware of you," Tony tells Bucky. "Have you told your creators about this new development?"

Bucky rolls his eyes like he wants to bite Tony's mouth off but then hesitates, and Tony sighs. 

He knows they're trying to comfort and help him, but he's never been coddled before and it's not going to happen now. "Guys. I'm fine, really, and let's talk about something happier. Barnes, now would be a good time to release some of your horny hormones, get Steve a little loose and happy."

The faintly embarrassed look on Steve's face makes Tony feel pleased with himself more than he should be. Although having been with Bucky for years, and now Tony, Steve retaining most of his righteousness and virtue really is saying something about his resolve. No wonder he's Peggy's heir. 

"How about you staying?" Bucky says, wrapping his arms a little tighter around Tony's waist and grinning. "That's some fucking good news."

"Have you really thought about that decision, Tony?" Steve asks, frowning lightly because he is ever the over-thinker. "I know you said you want to stay, but..."

"Stevie," Bucky scolds, swatting at the huge blond and then covering Tony's ears with his hands. "What are you doing, trying to jeopardise this? We're keeping him."

"Yeah, Steve," Tony says, watching the blond try and fight off a smile. "He's keeping me."

"I'm not arguing against that, it's just... have you really thought about it?" Steve says, places his sketchpad on the soft duvets of their massive couch-bed, or a bed masquerading as a couch. "What about MIT? Your dorm room, your stuff, your friends?"

Tony sniffs, indignant. "I've just turned twenty and honestly, I've already finished University. The course I was enrolled in was actually kind of for employed researchers at MIT in R&D, like a bonus and something to do with my free time and they only let me join because I'm a genius. My dorm's a shitty little brown box, and it has like my AC/DC shirts but that's about it. I didn't have too many friends so it's not like I'm missing out."

"We can arrange pickup for all those things later," Bucky adds, rubbing circles into Tony's back like he's some sort of aching grandma, but hey, he's not complaining. "We have time to do all that. And for Clint too."

"You're going to be moving in with us," Steve ventures, tone cautious like he's afraid of Tony bolting. 

"I wouldn't want to live with anyone else," Tony says calmly, meeting his eyes. 

Bucky grins, dark and thrumming with glee. "I hope you don't have anything important to do tomorrow, sweetheart, because we've got _plans _for you tonight."

"I'm pretty sure I won't need my ass for tomorrow morning," Tony shoots back brazenly, something in his heart stringing tight at the suggestion. 

Steve's mouth pulls into a wry smile. "I guess we're going to need to keep a really close eye on you and Clint, knowing how you two operate." Then his face blanches a little. "Oh God, imagine the arguments. Imagine the pillow fights you and Clint would have. Even though you're fully grown adults and in places where there shouldn't even _be _any pillows, and you manage to keep on finding them."

Tony takes a second to reflect on that, offended to his marrow that Steve could even doubt the power of Clint and Tony's squabbling abilities. He thinks of stabbing his bare feet into Steve's ridiculously muscled ribs and tickling the shit out of him, but Steve could probably snap of his toes and feed them to him and if there was anything to be scared of in this world that would be a top contender. "Damn, Buck, you hearing this? He sounds jealous."

Bucky throws Steve a smirk, pressing a kiss on the back of Tony's neck that absolutely does _not _have him shivering. "Steve's just mad he can't have a childish argument with pillows because he needs to look grownup all the time."

"And with _you _two," Steve groans, good-natured and fond. "I can't put out two fires at once, you know,"

"Bullshit," Tony says, snagging Steve's shirt and hauling him close. "You love the excitement. It makes you feel needed."

God, seeing the way Steve's eyes just go warm and soft is _doing _things to his heart. 

It causes a surge of protectiveness that startles him, because Tony's never had anything to be protective of, and feeling it for a brand new other person is well... astonishing. 

"You know we can't tell you everything, right?" Steve says, running his hands soothingly on Tony's thighs. "I'm sorry, it's just the way it is. I don't want you to know things that could get you in trouble."

"I don't want to," Tony tells him, knows the things Steve doesn't want to tell him are things he doesn't want to know anyway. "This is your family. You decide what you want to tell me, and that's good enough for me. Just..." and he stops, searches Steve's open face, feels reassured by what he sees there. "Don't lie to me, okay? Either of you." 

"We won't," Bucky promises, and then there's a tranquil moment of peace and affection that's promptly ruined when he sneezes right on Tony's back. 

Tony internally winces at the damp spot on his back. "You see how much I care about you, Murder Muffin? I even let you sneeze on me. We have now transcended a level in our relationship."

"Oh no," Bucky says, pulling back, eyes going wide. "Hold the phone. Who said anything about a relationship? Are we in a serious relationship? You know, Tony, I think we're moving too fast..." 

It feels more like a reflex than a choice, when Tony grabs for the nearest pillow and thumps it in Bucky's self-satisfied smirking face. 

They're in the middle of the beginning phases of a particularly raunchy playfight, with Steve's hands pinning Bucky down and Tony straddling him with a pillow clutched in his hands, when the glass doors opens to their living room on their private floor and Natasha walks in, wearing a fresh suit with her hands gloved and her hair pulled back high. She looks like business, and Tony rolls away from Steve and Bucky, but ends up pressing close to both of them anyway. 

Natasha, to her credit, looks unbothered by the tangled display of three grown men and sizes them up leisurely, as Tony does his best not to fidget and falls back to the duvets, smiling at the redhead. To think of it, Natasha's probably seen much, much worse but this is the woman who taught him how to throw a breathtaking right hook and he wants to do her proud. 

Steve rises to his feet, in his rumpled tee and sweats, regards Natasha with an eerie sense of intuit. "What's wrong?"

Natasha's face flashes with something unintelligible, and something in Tony's gut drops. 

Bucky slides to the edge of the bed, blue eyes fixed on the two, and Tony pauses. The energy inbetween them feels strange, writhing and taut, and it makes him anxious because the look on Natasha's face is braced for something lethal, and there's not much sweetness to Natasha, very little give before you hit her core of steel and marble, but today there's a sharpness to her face he hasn't seen before. 

Natasha beckons a hand, and Steve crosses the distance in a few steps. "We just got word. Our shipment coming in today was intercepted at the harbor, along with a small warehouse of ours in the area. Our people report seeing McCullough's men, along with members of the Rogues. They killed at least ten at the harbor, and set the shipment there on fire. The warehouse was cleansed then trashed."

Steve falls back, looks like he's been physically shoved. Bucky's an unnerving quiet, stiff against Tony.

Tony's mouth opens. It's jarring. The lives of men, a flame each of their own, snuffed out like someone extinguished it with a palm and never looked back. It's a different kind of hurt, to see the way Bucky's face tightens and Steve's face fall, and Tony supposes it doesn't even matter if they were men who did illegal things, who hurt people, they were part of Steve and Bucky's family and to lose them is a cut to the heart. 

Bucky stands up, jaw set hard. "All on board?"

"Dead, along with three civilians," Natasha replies, unemotional and detached, the way she gets before a kill order. "Peggy's furious, about the death count. And it cost us almost a million dollars."

Tony tries not to fixate on the mention of money, when people have died for it. Because he knows Natasha, bless her, is a practical soul and she covers all sides of the story. 

"What do we know?" Steve grits out, wide shoulders wound tight. 

Bucky paces, taut, looks like a wolf itching to wrap his teeth around bone and _break. _"McCullough is fucking dead. He can't get away with this."

Natasha glances at Bucky, a steadying look that seems to ground him, and then turns to Steve. "We sent men to the site, found the wreckage, the bodies. It's on the news as a pipe explosion and mechanical malfunction on the cargo ship. It's not looking good, Steve. McCullough just started a war with us, and the presence of the Rogues means he's already partnered up with Zola."

It's not hard to keep up, and Tony knows McCullough's the one who put the hit out on him and Clint and had his men stalk their apartments, but hearing him in this context strikes a deeper, fierce dislike for the man in his chest. 

"Who leaked the shipment coordinates?" Bucky says, voice controlled, but there's rage under the calm and that's something that he understands, Tony knows what to do with rage, pack it into a tight ball and wait for the inevitable disruption. "Steve, you fucking _know_ who it is. I swear to God, I'll skin him alive."

"We have no proof," Steve says, slowly, methodically, and it sets off a blaze in Bucky. 

"We have the proof," Bucky hisses, marching to Tony and gently bracing his hands around Tony's neck, fingers tracing the faint scar left by the head wound, the souvenir from his adventure in the bathroom and motioning sharply. "_We_ _have the fucking proof. _How many people are you going to let him hurt before you finally see your brother for what he is, a _snake?"_

"What if it's not him?" Steve asks, troubled, conflicted and Tony's seen that before, seen that denial and the desperate hope for when someone you loved betrayed you, and tries not to think about _Tiberius _because there's no point getting lost in a memory of something you can't change, not when your world is being set aflame. 

"We deal with him right now." Bucky says, crossing his arms. "Give me an interrogation room, a knife, and we'll have our answer in twenty minutes. _Fuck._"

Steve whips his head around, blue eyes narrowed. "We're not torturing anybody, Buck. Nat, can you find him?"

And when the seconds where Natasha dials the phone and says, 'find Erik', and receives no answer stretch on for too long, Bucky's lips pull back from his teeth in a wolfish imitation of a smile. Steve's face is pale, and Tony doesn't want to look at the pain, the realisation on his face when Natasha shakes her head and drops her phone back into her pocket, guilt flashing across her face like a shadow. 

"Alert the building," Steve says, voice dry and a little flat like he's spiralling and he's locking himself down tight. "No one goes in, or out, without my or Peggy's expressive approval, and Erik is to be apprehended if he's seen. Violence is permitted if necessary, and agents that have been suspected of working with Erik or are his personal detail are to be isolated and interrogated on his whereabouts. Have we attempted to communicate with McCullough?"

The laugh that comes from Bucky is bitter. "Ever the peacemaker. You want to fix this with peace, when the other side started the fire with a kill count of ten on our side? The pile of bodies is getting high, Steve, and it's ours."

Steve works his jaw, looks at Bucky like they're moments away from a fight, and Tony sees it now, their hard edges catching on each other, and he grabs ahold of Bucky's wrist, warm, thumbing across his pulse. Bucky deflates against him, giving an inch, and it pulls down Steve's defense too, leaves them both a little more vulnerable. "What do you propose? We go in guns blazing? What's the kill count then, with Zola and McCullough's men firing at us?"

"No," Bucky says. "We use Rosten."

Natasha frowns. "Who the hell is Rosten?"

"McCullough's daughter," Bucky says, moving to the end cabinet and yanking his combat gear out, pocketing a sleek Ruger. "We've been in contact for a while. She wants to help us take down her father."

Natasha's face goes calculative, analysing the threat. "That's not a good idea."

"It's the only card we hold right now, Nat," Bucky says, yanking on his jacket. "It's already started, and we're a mile behind."

"McCullough's daughter is a risk," Natasha says, sounds calm but her eyes are tightened. "Bucky, it might be a trap." 

She looks at Tony, almost pleadingly, like she wants him to tell Bucky not to go. 

Tony closes his eyes, throat rigid. _I can't do that. _

"No," Steve interrupts brusquely, tone hard. "Buck, you're right. Go find her, set it up, execute it. Take some of the team if you need to. Nat, I need you to alert all our people in the field and pull them back, let them know they could be compromised. Take some men with you and go secure our key locations, make sure McCullough and Co aren't making a move on our warehouses or people. I'll stay here, organize tac teams, try and track them remotely. We end this two ways." 

"Cut off the head, the body dies." Bucky nods, sharp and decisive, fingers curling like he's already itching for a fight, fingers gripping a phantom trigger. The slight movement is so simple, harmless, but it reminds Tony hard and fast that above all else, these people are expert killers. 

_His people, _if he stays. 

He finds he doesn't mind. 

Tony listens, quiet and worried, worried for these two boys of his that seem too young to be talking of death, orchestrators of violence and of blood. Like masters of a puppet string, pulled taut and seconds away from snapping. His heart is beating fast, cracking against his chest, because he knows that while he's in the compound safe and dry, Bucky is leaving.

And he wants Bucky to come back, not pieces of him.

He knows that if Bucky's safety was ever compromised, Steve would go after him, no questions asked, everything be damned. It's selfish, it's so terribly selfish it makes Tony's skin crawl but he doesn't want either of them thick in the fray, because then Tony stands a chance at losing everything. Again. 

Steve lifts his chin, with a dark-eyed stare of his own, and says, "If we can neutralize McCullough, his operation's blown. His people have no incentive to continue if they're under his payroll. We can trap Zola, have Carlston offer a money reward for the mercenary who leads us to him. Then we force them out, one by one, because they _knew_ the risks, when they walked into that harbor and blew our people up."

Natasha nods, once, green eyes flickering. "Consider it done."

"See you on the other side," Bucky tells her, patient like Natasha's going for a stroll in the park and they'll meet at the second entrance. 

"Everyone rendezvous in two hours," Steve says. "Watch your back."

She leaves, glancing at Tony for a brief second with something soft and fond in her eyes, and Tony looks right back, tells her with his gaze _to be careful. _She smiles at him gently like he's something fragile, then the elevator doors slide close neatly and she vanishes from his sight. 

Bucky runs his hands through his hair in a rare display of exasperation. "I can't _believe _this shit happened, not when I had such a great date night that was almost guaranteed to end with sexy times planned for this evening."

Tony glances at him, moving to nuzzle close to the larger brunet. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Sexy times this evening? Why wasn't I included in the plans?" Steve says, coming to stand close to the two of them, and Tony knows they're trying to make light of the situation, _for him. _

But he doesn't need them to. "You two be really, really careful, okay?" Tony says, more breakable than he's ever heard himself sound. "I'm serious." The _idea _of Steve and Bucky being in danger, the mere terror of imagining one without the other, is enough to floor him and send waves of panic and fear through his body. All he wants to tell them is _to stay. _Safe, unharmed, sheltered from a life of bullets and knives. And Tony knows this is what he signed up for, he doesn't have the right to make them stay, so all he can do is hope and hope and hope. 

But Tony's never quite been a hopeful guy, prefers to set that hope to steel and iron and burn the poison straight out. 

He takes Bucky's face, fists his hands in Bucky's shirt and slides the other in his hair, and then they're kissing. It's a soft kiss, sweeter than it should be, the kind of gentle, careful bullshit Bucky does, the times Tony woke up in Medical, swimming his way to consciousness against an ocean of shushing opioids, or when Steve comes out of a nightmare, heaving and swinging until Bucky can pin him down, draw that panic out of him. 

"I'm coming back," Bucky says, when he finally pulls away. His mouth is an inch from Tony's, and Tony thinks there's no way in hell Steve or anyone else can drag him away if Tony just keeps kissing him, but he holds himself still anyway. 

"_I am," _Bucky says. "I love you."

He stares right at Tony, then snakes his arm around and hauls Steve in, Steve who had been watching with a raw expression on his face, like he'd fight to the death with his bare hands, if he gets to keep this. And it fits, falls right into the open cracks and edges that Bucky had said 'I love you', at this moment at this time. If he'd been asked a day before, Tony would have said that the first time they said 'I love you' would have been explosive, shot high and fracturing into a thousand pieces above them and raining down on their heads in an electrified torrent of emotions, a sweeping motion of their feet lifted above the ground and tumbling into bed, mouths painted crimson. 

But it's not. 

Tony sets his forehead against Bucky's, Steve's breath warm on their cheeks, lets himself get swept away in the gentle _calm _that radiates throughout his skin, thrumming in his blood. It's just right. It's not explosive. He doesn't want it to be, not in this moment. It runs, like a river, washes into their tangled hands and heavy behind their eyes, and the pace of Tony's heart is set by these two boys. 

"I love you too," he says, means it for both of them, and he doesn't waver. It's the first time he hasn't.

Steve presses his face briefly into the crook of Bucky's neck, pitches back to give him a messy kiss devoid of tenderness that leaves Bucky's face flushed red, and shoots them a dangerous grin that Tony is so used to seeing on Bucky's face that looks so wrong, yet like it _belongs_ on Steve that sends a piercing shiver racing up his spine. 

"I love you," Tony repeats, a little delighted, like he can't control his grin. "So be careful out there. It's a shitty world. And trust me, you wouldn't want to miss the celebratory raunchiness that'll be happening tonight. Or, you know, as soon as you two are free and don't have to teach annoying mobsters a lesson. Whenever you're ready."

"I would _never _miss the celebratory sex," Bucky says, hand to his heart like he's offended to his bones. "That's like, the best kind."

Steve laughs, low and rumbling. "I know I'm not exactly going out into the field today but I get to be apart of 'thank God we're alive' sex too, right?"

Tony beams and spins on his feet, leans right into Steve's warm embrace. "Honeypickles," he says, smacking a loud kiss on the blond's cheek. "You're the one staying with me while Buckaroo over there gets to go trigger-happy like a fat kid in a cake shop. You get _all _the good lovin'," and he waggles his eyebrows suggestively, ignoring Bucky's faint indignant protest.

"You better leave some of that for me," Bucky sniffs, backing away into the elevator. "Steve! Take care of our resident parasite."

Tony drops his jaw, levels a glare at the retreating brunet. "Excuse me, _parasite? _You better not be calling our kid that when the time comes. It leaves them with _issues. _Kids are kind of sensitive these days."

"Ooh," Bucky smirks, waving smugly as he steps into the elevator. "Spoken like a victim of daddy issues. Don't worry, when the time comes, I'm gonna name our kid somethin' cool, like Zero, or _Alcatraz, _or... or _Brando."_

Tony blanches. "You call our kid Brando and I'm fucking divorcing you. Steve," he says, turning to the blond pleadingly. "Why does Barnes hate our imaginary kid?"

"See you soon, girls! Clean the kitchen when I'm gone?" 

Tony pauses to turn and give Barnes the finger. 

"The kid's gonna hate _us,_" Steve tells them, rolls his eyes, looking like he's trying to suppress the sigh of the century and slings his arms over Tony's head to bracket his shoulders from behind. "Love you," he says, gently to the back of Tony's head, then lifts his eyes to Bucky, who's staring at them with a dopey grin as the elevator doors close. 

It leaves a lump in Tony's throat. Steve stays quiet, reflective, but steady.

"You're so hot when you're working," Tony suddenly says, pushing back the worry in the back of his mind for Bucky. _Bucky's going to be okay. He's good at what he does. _

Steve smiles down at him, inquisitive. "What? You haven't seen me working yet."

"I didn't tell you? I'm a psychic. I predict things now." Tony replies, flicking Steve's nose. "Just setting up a standard for you, like a good boyfriend."

"I'll leave a comment box for you after all of this is done," Steve murmurs, his voice sending thrills down Tony's skin. "You better give me five stars." Then he's moving, grabbing files from his desk and buttoning up his new shirt, getting into the elevator and bundling Tony down with him, brisk and efficient in that military way of his, always a leader even at home. 

Tony stumbles after him, a little disoriented in the elevator as Steve leans over to smooth down a stubborn cowlick. "You know," he says, casually. "I like how we all initiated a very serious conversation and said 'I love you' that none of us are truly acknowledging it and it's just marked a very big step in our relationship." Then he wrinkles his nose, squints hard at an amused Steve, vaguely horrified at himself. "I'm literally the _last _person to like talking about milestones in relationships. What have you two turned me _into?"_


	20. Chapter 20

Steve is set on a warpath, and the fire he's coaxing in the thrumming of his fingertips is reserved to burn one person. 

People scatter when he strides pass, and there must be something twisted and dark in his face because the agents he's trained, who've fought side by side with him, all avoid looking at him directly like they're afraid he'll fling his shoe at them at the slightest trigger. 

The only thing that's consuming his mind, is _Erik. _

His own brother. 

It's quite simply, a disgrace. 

He barges into the command center, surprises a woman standing with her back turned to the door enough for the papers clutched in her hands to go flying in three different directions. She shoots a panicked glance at him, mumbles something unintelligible, and scurries circles around him to gather the papers. Steve frowns, touches his own face, does he look _that _scary? He sighs, crouches over and helps the woman get the rest of the papers. 

"Sorry," he apologises, and her face almost pales. 

Steve frowns even harder.

"Yeah," his cousin says, materialising in front of them. "You're that scary."

Steve turns. "Sharon," he says, runs his hand through his blond hair. "Please tell me you have something on that son of a bitch."

Sharon's eyebrows climb an inch higher. "Wow," she comments, handing him a manila folder. "You must be pretty shaken up, to swear like that."

He takes the folder, palms through the documents, eyes his cousin with anger simmering in his chest. "He ordered a private flight, prepaid travel documents, wired money to an offshore account. He's trying to leave?" and Steve laughs, grim and flat. "Make sure that plane doesn't leave. Have personnel arrest him on sight if he's seen."

"What the hell is he thinking," Sharon asks, staring at the widescreen projecting the locations of every known operative that has the power to harm them. "What in the world, could be his fucking reason for betraying everything he's ever known? His family, for God's sake?"

"He doesn't care about family," Steve answers, as Bramwell types furiously on a laptop in front of them, and red pinpoints show up on the screen, circling around key locations of McCullough and Zola's operations. "Hasn't, for a long time. I should have seen this coming," and the guilt and the disappointment in himself is potent, enough to leave a bitter taste in the back of his mouth. "The signs were all there."

Sharon sighs. "He must be desperate."

"No pity, okay?" Steve says, turning to face her. He's angry. He feels raw, split open like a wound festered with agony, because that's what this is. Bleeding betrayal. His brother, on the other side of a chasm, and Steve can't get to him, not anymore. "Erik has made his choice. He's endangered countless of our people, already caused the death of innocents, and this is where it stops."

Sharon goes quiet then, looking away, and Steve doesn't know if he has it in him to order his brother's execution. 

Bramwell makes a noise, and Steve's head snaps to him. "We've got a location on Zola," and he pulls up a CCTV camera footage, the grainy motions of Zola filling the screen as he exits a tall building, bodyguards flanking him. "Three hours ago. East Houston street. Not far from one of our pharmaceutical venture clinics."

"You think he'll hit it?" Steve says, alarm shooting through him. Those are legitimate businesses directed by them, full of innocent people, honest people just trying to make a living. Legitimate businesses spearheaded by _him _in a movement to introduce the expansion of legalized businesses in their family. He's tired of being the _Carter crime family, wanted for extortion, murder, and countless terrible things. _

Bramwell shakes his head. "There's nothing for him there."

Sharon's lips thin into a straight line, and Steve spares her a quick look, feels bad for calling her back into the fray when she's made it very clear it's the last place she wants to be. "See if you can track McCullough," and then her eyes widen. 

Steve knows exactly what she's getting at. "Bramwell, get Lorzky and Reun on the line."

Lorzky and Reun, face and trigger partners, one meant to infiltrate, one meant to track and well... _pull the trigger. _They had gone undercover for the last six months, Steve's attempt in keeping track on McCullough's whereabouts, and his operation. Lorzky, in particular, was deep in McCullough's operation and feeding them information on key people in the bastard's inner circle. Reun was running recon, keeping tabs and picking off stragglers. It's been a fast paced, hit-and-run op, and Steve just hopes with everything he's got, that Natasha's managed to warn all undercover agents to withdraw and get out. 

Reun picks up, and she sounds out of breath, winded and strung out. Steve immediately stiffens. 

"Reun," Steve says, taking the microphone Bramwell offers him while he tries to get a read on her location. "Status report. What's going on?"

"Not good," Reun says, and Steve hears it in her voice, the control she's trying to extend over herself. "I temporarily lost contact with Lorzky. His last status report was two and a half hours ago, and he says it's chaos. People dying left and right, McCullough's brewing something big. He saw Zola and McCullough together, and Steve, I think they're trying to take over."

"Well they have to capture our HQ to do that," Steve tells her, pushes as much reassurance into his tone as he can manage. "And they're not getting our HQ. Are your covers blown?"

"My cover is," she says, sounds regretful and angry and _hurt, _hurt reserved for Lorzky. "I don't know where Lorzky is, Steve," and Reun's voice hitches shakily. "I don't know if his cover's blown. He could be dead already."

Steve pinches his nose, wants to strangle McCullough with his bare hands. "Alright. Reun, calm down. Get back to HQ as fast as you can, make sure you have no tails. What's your last read on Lorzky's location? We have yours," and he flicks his eyes to Bramwell, who nods and writes the address down on a notepad and pushes it to him. "But we can't afford to extract you."

Reun takes a startling breath. "Okay. Lorzky was last around Creek Marsh, he says McCullough has a pretty big operation there. If I had to bet, that's where Zola is, he was brought there."

"But no read on McCullough," Steve says, heart constricts a little because _that's Bucky's job. _"Alright. I'll see you, Reun. Lorzky can take care of himself," _if he's not already facedown in a ditch, _"and he's got his orders of what to do if his cover's blown. You'll see him in no time when this over."

"Yes, sir," comes Reun's grateful reply, and then the line goes dead. 

Steve places the microphone down. "Shit," he says, closing his eyes. "Sharon, send a tac team of whoever's available downstairs to Creek Marsh. Scouts included. If they can capture Zola, or even get a look at him, that'll be a point in our favor," and he glances to Bramwell, who's motioning wildly to a young IT kid Steve doesn't know to type faster. "If they're hitting our shipments, we need to secure those locations."

"Unless they did it to get our attention," Sharon concedes, turns away briefly to bark orders for the assembling of a team on her phone. 

"Consider our attention gotten," Steve mutters. His head's starting to hurt, and this is the _last _thing he wants to be doing. He wants to be with Bucky and Tony in the safety and warmth of their bedroom, covers and duvets swathed around the two people he... he _loves. _But he can't. He has to keep them safe, protected, and even though he can't do that for Bucky, he's sure as hell going to do it for Tony. 

Bramwell swears. 

Everything in Steve's body alights to awareness. "What?" he says, rushing to his side.

Sharon comes to stand beside him, and Bramwell doesn't answer, fingers flitting furiously over the keyboard.

Steve grips the back of the chair. 

"I just got a security breach from Level One," Bramwell says, turning in his chair and meeting Steve's gaze with something akin to horror in his eyes. "They're here."

"What the fuck do you mean, they're here?" Sharon echoes the words racing through his mind, sounding outraged. "How can they be—"

"They're coming through the basement," Bramwell says, clicks open another tab that projects real-time camera footage on the widescreen. "I don't know how they could have..." and his eyebrows are furrowed, confused and worried, as he tracks the breach. "They're in the building, but they haven't broken through anything. The place where all the waterpipes and things are," and Bramwell makes a flippy gesture with his hand, fixes his eyes on the computer screen. "I don't know how they got in."

"Someone left a door open for them," Steve suddenly says, the realization descending upon his brain like a web of thorns. It nearly knocks the breath right out of him, when he turns to meet Sharon's furious gaze. "Erik never left. He's here. He's right here, and he _fucking left the door open for them."_

Sharon tears her eyes away, turns to Bramwell's assistant, a boy they call Cory. "Lockdown," she says, soft, unbelieving. "Put the whole building on lockdown. All access from the basement locked off, and put in the order for the evacuation of Level One."

She glances at Steve for a brief second, nods _good luck,_ then sweeps out the door with all the glory of a Carter. 

Pain sparks in his palms, and Steve looks down, startled, uncurls his tightly wound fingers from his skin and the rage that sweeps up from the tips of his toes to the top of his head in one dizzying rush leaves him reeling, for a moment, the all-consuming wrath at his brother for _daring _to endanger the lives of everyone he cares about and loves and the gut wrenching terror of what will happen if they break through the basement and into the building. 

Dead bodies flash through his mind, dead and limp, their faces pale and lax and their eyes open. 

Glassy eyes, awake and wide but staring at _nothing. _

The blood is stifling, and Steve is breathing through the bloodbath.

He imagines turning body after body over, checking, fingers pressed for a pulse that stutters and stops under his touch. 

He imagines turning _Tony's_ body. 

And the single thought of that is so overwhelmingly horrifying that Steve _does _stop breathing for a moment. 

"Show me the breach," is all he can force out through his teeth, and Bramwell's clicking through each camera footage, zeroes in one a grainy image that fills the screen. Steve watches, with a tingling sense of _hunt _and _kill _and _cut _of such innate drive that when he sees the people who are out to kill him and his family on the screen, levels below his very feet, he can't stop the fury that seeps through his bones. He counts more than twelve, at the very least, notes the agile, fast way the men move that tells him these are not amateurs. 

He nearly laughs at the incredulity of it all. 

Of course they wouldn't send amateurs. 

Armed to the teeth, full on tactical gear and body armor. Then one of the men passing under the camera stops, face covered in a ski mask, looks up straight to the camera and right into Steve's eyes. He tilts the rifle in his hand, aims, and then the camera fizzes out to black. 

"What's in the basement?" Steve asks, looking at another footage, tries to get the visual back. "Can they get to us?"

"They can't," Bramwell concedes, then scrunches his face. "Wait. They can't, if we lock down all the floors," and then he's looking up at Steve with something fearful in his eyes. "That's only _if _the lockdown is still initiated."

What Bramwell is trying to say hits him like a small over sized bull. He hasn't felt so damn irritated, since that day where Bucky jumped off a fucking train trying to save him and nearly got himself killed and lost an arm for his troubles. "There's a manual override, isn't there," Steve says, exasperated _of course _they couldn't catch a break. "Down in the basement."

"There is," Bramwell replies, tight. "But it's only used in electrical emergencies."

"And they're going to make one." Steve fills in the blanks, staring as they lose another camera.

"They're going to cut the power." Bramwell says, and Steve immediately looks up the ceiling, the bright lights above him. "So everything will be manual, and most access controls are unlocked. We don't have eyes down there anymore," Bramwell says. "We need to start evacuating."

He can't believe this is happening. Can't believe that of all people, his own brother was the one who let the wolves into their home, ready to tear apart any form of life they found, and that, he can't forgive. Steve palms over his gun, is comforted by the steady presence of metal, the cool steel bringing him back on his feet like a wake up call. "I want those who can't fight," Steve says, raising his voice so the other people in the room hear. "To leave through the side route. Go to our center in Flushing, Queens. Rex," Steve says, turning to one of his trusted men. "Make sure they're evacuated. We already have some people there. The rest of you," and he looks around, finds himself pulled in every different direction by the glow of determined, battle hungry eyes. "Come with me. We're going to fight."

Steve glances to his head of Security, a tough, blond-haired woman called Juergens. "Juergens, split whoever's available into two teams. Red, and blue. I'll lead Red, and you take Blue. Third smaller team, have Sam take control, they'll be backup. Get someone to contact Natasha and Bucky, inform them of the situation but don't tell them to come back. We've got it covered."

Juergens straightens to attention, brown eyes bright with anticipation. She's worked for his family for years, he can trust her with his life, and the lives of his teams. "Straight away, sir," she says, brisk. "I'll have your team waiting down for you in the fire escape of Level One." She moves away, quick, three of her closest agents following suit. The room is almost empty except for Steve, Bramwell and two young-faced, wide-eyed assistants. 

"I'll scout," Bramwell says, gesturing with his hands for his assistant to move closer, ignoring Cory's faint protest. "Cory will help. We'll man the cameras, at least until they cut the electrical outlet for them. At least we have back up generators," he tells them, sounding hopeful. "So I can track you remotely."

"Trackers?" Steve says, surprised. 

Bramwell smiles tautly. "Have your team wear the body armor in the armory as many as there are available. We have EMP trackers installed in each vest. If and when the power goes down, you'll be pretty blind except for some shitty backup generator light and fire escape lights. I'll be here to guide you and your team, just make sure you have your comms," and he taps the side of his ear. 

"I will," Steve tells him. He turns to leave, then glances back at the brown-haired, bespectacled man he's known since he was five years old. "I want you to go," and he holds a hand up at Bramwell's narrowing eyes. "If it looks like we're going to go down. Find whoever else you can, and just leave."

Bramwell looks at him like he's debating whether they have the time to argue. 

Steve smiles. "That's an order," he says, and whisks out the door before Bramwell can protest. 

The first place he goes; Peggy.

She's on her way to the emergency exit when he finds her, and her brown hair is tightly wound high and she's gripping an assault rifle in her arms with the easy grace of a woman who's used it more than a thousand times. When Steve comes up behind her, Peggy twirls and aims the barrel right at his face and stops short. 

"Aunt Peggy," Steve says, relieved. "You need to go. We've locked down the building but they're going to try to cut the power, gain access to Level One. We're evacuating, and teams Red and Blue are going to defuse the situation. You need to leave."

"I'm not leaving," she snarls, marching past him down the hallway, and Steve doesn't have to be an expert in body language to know Peggy Carter is ripping mad. Furious. "This is _my _home, _my _family, and hell, I pay the fucking rent for this damn building. I'll be damned if I leave this place to filthy wreckers like that."

Steve wants to be calm, he really does, but he needs to convince his aunt why going down to shoot the heads off some mercenaries and highly trained soldiers might not be a good idea. He needs to go to Tony, Sam, and Clint, make sure they're evacuated. Then he needs to go down to Level One and murder the fuck out of the problem downstairs. He does _not _have time for arguments. 

He catches up to his fuming aunt, grips her arm tight. She looks at him, then, her brown eyes cold. "Steve," she says, tone flat. "Let me go. This is my fight, too."

"I can't," he tells her, just as steady. "Aunt Peggy, you need to go. Take Tony, and Clint, and get out of here. Go to Queens. I'll meet you there."

She shakes him off, patting down her blouse with contained anger. "How's it going to look if the head of the Carter family runs off with her tail tucked inbetween her legs from the enemy? You think that's going to make us look strong? Or like we can be chased, and _hunted."_

Steve takes a deep breath, checks his watch. _Shit, I'm running out of time. _"I'm not asking you to abandon your family or your people," he tells her, moves fast through an open emergency exit and they start going down the stairs to find Tony and Clint. "I'm asking you to _trust me."_

"No," Peggy shoots back, fierce. "You're asking me to run from them. I won't do that."

Steve tries not to lose it, he really does. He's made of stronger stuff than that. He kicks open the door to the level below, scans the empty hallway. It's full of rooms, probably the dorms, but the hallway leads to a small op center that Sam's probably in. There's movement he spots in the farthest room and he's jogging. "Tony!" he calls. "Sam, Clint! It's Steve!"

Sam pops out of the room, dark eyes concerned. "Steve," he says. "Is it bad?"

"I don't know, haven't gone down yet," Steve replies, looks past him desperately. He needs to find _Tony. _"Where's Tony and Clint?"

"Right here," Tony says, moving out from the shadows and he's coming straight to Steve, wraps his arms tight around his neck and hugs him tight, pulls back to press a sweet kiss to Steve's lips that's just not _enough _and he wants _more._ Something tight in his chest uncoils and springs free at the contact and Steve drops his shoulders, collapses into the embrace and the fraying nerves soothing as Tony rubs a comforting thumb on the back of his neck. "I'm okay. We're both okay," Tony murmurs, shooting a glance past Steve to Clint, who hovers by them with an irritated look on his face. "What's going on?"

"We're gonna die is what's going on," Clint grumbles, rolling his eyes. "I told you we'd rue the day we let them take us like a couple of old helpless grandmas."

Tony sighs. "I'm telling your grandma you said that. She's going to whoop you into another dimension."

"At least I _have _a grandma—"

Steve tries not to smile, because it is absolutely not the time for it. "We're under attack," he says, sweeps his arms wide. "Sam, you're up to date?" at his friend's nod, he continues. "My Aunt Peggy is going to take you and Clint to safety, to our center in Flushing, Queens. Sam and I will follow after we deal with the situation here." He takes Tony's arms, looks into those sweet brown eyes and tries to swallow the lump in his throat. "Sweetheart, you have to go now."

Tony looks stricken. "What? No, I'm not going. I'm not leaving you."

Steve shakes his head, cups Tony's face in his hands. "I'm sorry," he whispers, kisses his cheeks. "But you have to. I need you to be safe," and the vision flashes in front of his eyes again, of Tony's hand limp to the side, eyes open and _nothing. _Steve shudders, he can't help it. "You have to be safe."

"That wasn't the plan," Tony says, voice going taut with constrained panic. "You said we'd stick together. I'm staying with you."

"Peggy," Steve says pleadingly, looking to his aunt. She stands there, silent, expression unyielding and Steve wants to shout because can people please _listen to him _and then Peggy deflates. She takes Tony's hand, holds onto him tight, tries to gently pull him back but Tony's resisting, standing his ground and staring right at Steve with something twisted and ragged in his eyes and his breath. Peggy glances at him, smiles briefly. _I trust you, _she tells him. _Go protect our family. _

Steve pushes his hands over his eyes, breaths in. 

"Tony," Peggy says, soft. "Come on. He'll meet us in Queens. We gotta go." She motions to Clint, and the brown-haired man glances to Steve, pausing. 

"Thanks," Clint tells him sincerely. "Thanks for everything."

Steve grips his shoulder, tells him with his eyes, _keep Tony safe for me. _Clint nods. 

"No," Tony says again, mouth thinning into a hard line. "No, Steve, I'm going with you, I _love _you, you can't—" and his voice breaks, a tremble that twinges something agonizing in Steve's chest and he almost can't bear to look at Tony but he wants to, he _needs _to, because what if this is the last time? He needs to memorize every part of Tony. Of his face, his eyes, his smile. Steve can't bear to look away from him. "You'll get hurt, what if.... You said we'd stay together!"

Tony makes a noise in his throat like he's a wounded animal, and it breaks Steve's heart. He stares at Steve, glassy, inside out like he's been hung upside down, and there's understanding in his eyes, beneath all the hurt. "You have to come back, okay?" Tony finally says, his voice strong and almost bruising. It makes Steve catch a breath in his throat. "You have to come back to me, you and Bucky," and Tony's holding his hands and the grip is crushing. "Because I'm going to rip your ass down all through nine levels of hell if you make me go through all of this without you."

Steve wants nothing more than to _stay,_ nearly blurts it all out just to wipe off that look from Tony's face, like he's expecting to come back to nothing more than a body. "I'll come back, I promise," and he's cheesy about this stuff, knows Tony hates cheesy stuff but the brunet just closes his eyes like Steve's reached right into his chest cavity and squeezed his heart out. "Have some faith in me, will ya?" he jokes. Tony smiles faintly.

Steve steps forward, runs his thumb along Tony's cheekbone. "Be brave."

"I will," Tony says, nothing more than a whisper.

"Tony," Steve says, leans forward and presses a kiss to the brunet's forehead. "I love you."

Then he turns his back on Tony, and it's one of the hardest things he's ever had to do, to force himself to keep on walking. 

"Right," Steve says, hefting the FN SCAR-H assault rifle onto his shoulder. He tosses one of the EMP tracker vests to another man, and cocks the rifle. "Are we all ready? Turn your comms on, everyone."

He turns away, taps the comm in his ear as it flares to life. "Bramwell," he says. "Check in."

There's a moment of crackly feedback, then Bramwell's voice tunes in. "Received. Good luck, Red."

He watches as the six people around him pat their bodies down, checking their comms and their weapons. The air is charged with nervous energy, muscles stiff and eyes showing white, and Steve knows these people, grew up with some, trained with the rest. They're all _his _people. Jemma, one of Sam's favorite trainees a few years back, looks up at Steve with fire in her eyes as she nods and gives a check. Ty and Kit, battle-hardened twins who came to the Carters after life on the streets. Roffrey, whose knife skills are nearly on par with Bucky. Jamie, who's been on the force forever and acted like an older brother to Steve at times. Anna, a small, lithe dark-skinned girl whose speed makes up for accuracy. 

Steve would give his life for any of these people. 

He struggles not to worry about Tony and Clint, they're with Peggy, they're _safe. _He needs to concentrate now. 

Jamie steps in front of him. "We're ready," and he sounds low, looks Steve right in the eyes. 

That's the look of a team that trusts him.

"Blue team, headed by Sharon is already waiting for us on Level Two. She's sending us four people as back-ups and as support fire for anything we do. We're going to go in quick and clean," Steve says, glancing around his team, his skin hot and rush, the same way it always is before he goes into a fight. This is a fight he can't afford to lose. And it weighs down heavy on his shoulders, makes his targets crimson red, crystal clear. He _can't _lose. "We take out any front-liners in an assault. No fancy moves. We advance, in a direct line, pincer movement so there's people on both sides. It's going to be a narrow hallway down to the floor separating Level One and the basement, the plan is to stop them from getting up to Level One—"

There's a low whine overhead, making him look up, and then a spark of electricity in the ceiling lights pops and the building goes dark. The sudden darkness is disconcerting, and Steve can feel his team moving uncertainly, rifles cocked and hands moving to defend on instinct. Steve blinks, apprehension roaring in the back of his throat, as he grips his rifle harder and whips his head around in the blackness, straining his eyes to see in the shadows. The dim glow of computers in the far room are faint at best, and lights are all off. 

"What's going on," Steve hears Kit say cautiously. "Anyone have eyes?"

Jamie flicks on something close to Steve, and he turns in the darkness. Something brushes against Steve's arm, and his whole body tenses in response. "I have eyes," Jamie says, grimly. "Thermal vision. Wait."

"Bramwell," Steve says, waiting. He knows what's supposed to happen, the backup generators are supposed to automatically switch on but the wait is stretching a little longer than expected and it's heightening every sense embedded in his body, and being in the dark like this is far from ideal. He's the farthest thing from comfortable in his own building like this, and the knowledge that this has left his team vulnerable to an ambush is piercing, cuts through any patience he has left. 

"Got it," Bramwell quickly says, and then something low and heavy cranks in the ceiling above them. Steve looks up again, anticipation curling his fingers tight around his weapon. There's a small glow of white, fluorescent light, then an even deeper hum that seems to make the whole building tremble and then to everyone's relief, three large blocks of light switch on, illuminating the halls with indistinct light. It's not much, but it's better than nothing. "Backup generators up and running. Steve, targets were last seen breaching the entrance to the floor between Level One and the basement."

Steve lets out a breath, steels his own resolve. "That's right below us."

"The fire escape will give you access to the rear entrance in that floor, so they should be at the opposite end. I can only provide minimal guidance," and there's stony regret in Bramwell's voice that hits Steve a little harder than it should, because he hasn't stopped to think about how Bramwell must be feeling, all alone up in a dark office with wolves in the lair. 

They need to move fast, if they want to keep their advantage. 

Steve leads his team down the fire escape, down the stairs shrouded in an ominous red glow from the emergency lights. He hesitates for a second, staring at the door to the floor. He can't help feeling scared. It's irrational, Steve knows, he's gone into battles with less and often alone hundreds of times, but _this _is different. 

_This _is life or death. 

He wishes he had Bucky alongside him like he always is.

But Bucky's not there, and Steve is going in alone.

Steve leans his weight against the door and it falls open with a small click, and then he's waiting for his team to spill out around him, assuming their usual formation. Kit and Ty bring up the rear, Steve and Jamie head the front, Anna, Roffrey and Jemma make up the center. Steve spares one last look at his team. 

"See you on the other side," he says, resolute in a tradition that's never failed them, and he prays won't today. 

Then Steve is moving forward, heart clenched tight in his chest, cold in his limbs and death in his fingers. The whole floor is dark, with few emergency lights that reveal absolutely nothing. Steve positions himself behind the bend of a hallway, weapon ready, finger curled around the trigger. The silence is deafening, and no matter how hard he strains his ears, he can't hear anything. These mercernaries are professional, which means the battle will be ten times harder. 

And then he hears it. A small sound, of boots hitting a carpet and treading as lightly as they can. 

_12 O'clock, _Steve signals to Jamie, who crouches on the opposite side. 

Steve slips out from the bend, aims the rifle, and the silenced shot sends the man crumpling into the ground. Jamie rushes forward, low and small, presses his fingers to the man's neck and shakes his head. Steve leans over the body and avoids the blood slushing sickeningly from the small hole in his forehead, and palms over the body. He glances up ahead, into the empty hallway, and knows why there's only one. 

"Scout," he says quietly. Jamie nods, melts back into his side of the wall and they advance, steps careful and light. 

Then he sees a red glow in the darkness, and Steve barely managed to press himself to the wall before a bullet buries itself in the adjacent wall by the fallen body. Jamie catches his eyes, signals, and speeds into the dark, keeping his back to the wall, and then there's a cacophony of fierce gunfire that makes Steve's heart thump frantically against his chest and his palms go cold and sweaty.

Steve leaps into the open room, crouches behind an empty desk and kicks the chair away, aims his rifle over the divider and fires. The mercenary fires back, and the bullets catch in the divider. There's a movement to his right, sharp and fast, and Steve ducks low in time to escape the lethal swipe of a glinting knife. _Knife and guns, _Steve thinks, blocking another slash and locking his grip tight on the attacker's arm, body slams him to the floor and knocks him unconscious. _They use distractions. _

He catches Jamie to his far left, huddled on top of a desk and a potted plant, returning steady gunfire to the mercernaries by the end hallway. Steve spots Kit and Ty, still at the rear, taking shots and making steady advances. Anna has a man on the floor, and she glances up briefly to meet Steve's gaze before she slashes his throat open and rolls to find cover.

He doesn't need to look around to know Jemma and Roffrey are holding their own. 

Steve only manages to catch his breath before there's a tight pressure at his neck and it's yanking him back, and Steve's hands fly to his throat, desperate and comes away tinged with a thin streak of red. The wire cuts into his skin and sends a wave of panic roaring through his body and Steve flips himself into the weight of his opponent, sending them tumbling to the floor then back up again. The garrotte dangles harmlessly from the large man who's probably 6'4 by Steve's estimate, and then they're squaring off against each other. They're too close quarters to use his rifle, so Steve reaches down low and pulls out his knives, and then the man grins, teeth flashing in the darkness like he's been waiting for Steve to do just that. 

"You must be the Golden Boy," the man spits, blocking Steve's kick and attempting to knock him back. "I've heard about you."

"All good things, I hope," Steve snarls and staggers back from a dangerously close hit that was two inches shy of his throat and returns two of his own jabs; hits muscle and hears a winded breath and grins. He can't stop, keeps up the momentum and drives his blades forward, spins and sweeps the guy's legs out from under him, but not before he slides his blade down the guy's sternum. 

The man stumbles backwards, eyes wide, mouth open so Steve can see his teeth stained with blood. Steve blocks out the faint stinging radiating from the thin cut at his throat. "They did not underestimate your skill," the man rasps, and presses his hands to the wound down his chest. There's blood dripping down his dark clothes, pooling onto the floor, and Steve doesn't need to stand around to know that it's a hit the man won't recover from before he's launching himself for another mercenary, quickly discovering this one is _good. _

They trade blow for blow so fast, the power behind each hit bruising, and Steve is already breathing a little faster than he's used to. The guy he's fighting swings a lightning fast elbow at his fast and spins in the air to land a kick that hits Steve's ribs, and the pain that explodes beneath his chest makes his breath go strangled for a moment. 

The new guy, blue eyes alight through his partially covered face with exhilaration, doesn't wait a second before he lunges forward, throwing uppercuts and winding jabs that Steve exerts most of his energy blocking. He goes for the guy's knees, delivers a bone-crushing stomp that sends him crashing to the floor. Steve grunts in pain when he takes a hit across his face, spits out blood at the side before he rolls behind and locks the guy in a chokehold.

That's when he notices the red eagle insignia stitched on his shoulder, and Steve groans. 

"You're a Rogue," Steve hisses, tightening his hold. "Where is Zola and McCullough?"

The guy snarls, spittle flying from his mouth as he bucks wildly under Steve's grip.

Steve takes his knife, wipes the blood on the guy's skin and points the tip at his guts. "It will be a slow death," he promises grimly, and God, he _hates _this. Every cut and kill is automatic for him, trained since birth, but he dreads it and no one except Bucky knows.

"Go ahead," the guy says, grins despite his broken body. "I'll die before I tell you anything."

Steve swears. "Fine," he says, and stabs the guy in the guts, but doesn't aim for an organ. At the end of this, maybe having one of these Rogues alive might be a good idea. He drops the guy's lolling head to the floor, swipes his tactical knife and drags himself to his feet, and sucks in a breath for his tight lungs. The air is full of smoke and blood, clogs his nose and stings his eyes with death. 

Then he spots Jemma, blood streaked down her face as she fights against a mercenary's grip.

The knife is in the air before Steve can even register he threw it, and it buries itself in the mercernary's collarbone and a startled, pained shout leaves his mouth; the exact opportunity Jemma takes to deliver a crushing blow to the guy's throat that topples him to the floor and then he's finished when she takes the gun from her side and shoots him in the head. 

"Thanks," she says gratefully, then her eyes go impossibly wide. "Ste—"

The rest of his name breaks off, and blood pools from her slack lips. 

Steve pulls his gaze down to her stomach, the flesh ravaged from bullet wounds. He's yelling before he can even hear himself. Jemma stares at him, eyes shocked, then she folds in on herself like a pack of cards and he can't get there in time, Steve can't watch another person dear to him die again, not _like this, _and her head is in his lap and his hands cover her blood soaked stomach, applying pressure and pressure but Jemma's face goes lax and the last breath she takes is the first one he takes in those five damn minutes. 

He's known this girl since they were teenagers. Jemma's brown hair is slick from sweat and blood, and her dead weight feels poisonous on him, his pants are stained with her blood, _oh God, _and Steve is struggling to breathe past and not see her open, empty eyes. 

"Jemma," Steve whispers, ragged, brings his hands to close her eyelids. "I'm sorry," and he presses a tender kiss to her forehead. He takes her hands, her warm hands, presses a kiss on those too.

Jemma would hate it, she hated any sign of physical affection. Steve lets out a wet laugh, touches her face, her green eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He says, lowering his head. "It's okay. You can go."

"Steve!" Jamie shouts, and then someone's grabbing at his arms and pulling him up, but he can't look away from Jemma, who's head just falls to the side limply like she's a rag doll and that should be _impossible _because she was the first one who agreed to teach him Poker and the first time they played strip Poker it was the first time he'd gotten near naked with a girl in the room. 

"We have to go," Roffrey says, pushing Jamie and Steve in front of him to the hallway they entered through. "There's more coming. We have to fall back. Kit and Ty are giving us cover, we have to go _now."_

"Jemma," Steve croaks out, he can't _see her body anymore._ "We can't leave her body there."

"We'll come back for her," Jamie says, and he sounds strong and hard and Jemma was his friend, too. He doesn't look at Steve, stares straight ahead and bustles him through the hallway, rights him when Steve nearly stumbles over a piece of torn up carpet. "We'll come back."

"Jamie—" Steve starts to say, then _screams. _


End file.
